


I Hate to Say This

by biscuit (vital_root), keroseneSteve



Series: Truer Words [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hulk (2003), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Misunderstandings, Sick!Tony, The Plot Thickens, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Hates Magic, lbr hella ooc in the beginning but it's necessary, sort of, this fic starts with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vital_root/pseuds/biscuit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/keroseneSteve/pseuds/keroseneSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hurtful argument with the other Avengers on top of the flu, Tony's not feeling too charitable when the call to Assemble comes. Of course, the villain of the day has to prove that yes, in fact, his day can get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So clearly I didn't have time for this. Oh well. I'll do my best to fill as much as I can. Feedback makes my day! If you could leave just a few words, you'd really make my shitty day better. 
> 
> Prompt here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43468639#t43468639

"Are you drunk?" Barton asks in disbelief. Tony squints up at him from where his head rests on the mercifully cool counter. 

"Yeah, totally," he says flatly. His voice sounds like a running garbage disposal. "Drunk as a skunk, in an alcohol-free tower. Aren't you proud." 

"I'm disgusted, actually," Barton retorts, taking the stool across from Tony at the counter. Romanov comes up behind him and offers one of the three pistols in her hands -- only two of them are Stark made, especially for them. Barton takes the largest of the two, which Tony's briefly grateful for, but when he gets a look at the third he frowns. 

"What happened to the third one?" he questions, sitting upright to stare at the smallest, a round pistol of an ancient-looking European make. It's terribly designed; Tony's half convinced it's rigged to explode just by looking at it. "God, it's hideous. Why would you do that to yourself? Gimme." 

Romanov scowls at him. "Don't be such a baby. I've been using this gun since before I joined SHIELD." 

"It shows," Tony remarks, glowering at it as it disappears into one of her many invisible pockets. He could do so much better with that design. In fact, maybe he will. 

She rolls her eyes. "You look like shit. What happened to no alcohol in the tower?" 

"Why, yes, thank you, I do feel marginally better after my week-long bout with the flu," Tony snits, "I'm glad you asked." 

"Bullshit," Barton snorts. "I think we'dve noticed if you had the flu. The bottom floor would've been able to hear your complaints." 

Tony gapes. "Are you accusing me of lying about having the flu? Do you know how --" _dangerous the flu is for me?_ Tony bites his tongue and glares at the marble counter. He'd like to see one of them with a nasty case of the flu and only 86% of their lungs to work with. No, scratch that: he wouldn't wish it on anyone. 

"How immature you can get?" Romanov finishes, eyebrow raised. "Yes, yes we do." She drops next to Barton, folding her arms on the counter. 

"I hate to pull this card," Barton drawls, and Tony knows what's going to come out of his mouth, he know's and for that brief moment he's so breathtakingly angry -- "But what would Pepper think? You were doing so well." 

That hurts. 

Romanov elbows Barton, hard, and for a minute Tony thinks she's on his side, but then she opens her mouth. "Don't lump Potts in with his actions, she's washed her hands of him already." 

Tony takes as deep a breath as he can manage, half congested as he is, and wills himself to calm down. "Bad day, ladies?" is what comes out of his mouth. "Midol not cutting it for you this fine morning?" 

Barton narrows his eyes. "You expect us to be all buddy-buddy when the last time we saw you was two weeks ago? You embarrassed all of us with your shit at that party, Stark, and then you disappeared and left us to handle it. You expect me to be friendly? Fury just shut up about it two days ago." 

"Sorry about that," Tony concedes. He really hadn't needed to get so spectacularly drunk, he'll admit it. 

"Oh yeah," Barton says venomously, "you sound real sincere." 

"And how do I look?" Tony seethes, anger leeching back in slowly. "Do I look like a verbal punching bag? Quit being such an asshole! I don't deserve this shit!" 

"We didn't deserve the situation you left us with," Romanov points out, a thousand times more calm than Barton but still with that cruelly disdainful air she only pulls with people lower than her, in any sense of the word. 

"I know that," he snaps, "but right now I --" his voice cracks painfully and his argument devolves into a miserable coughing fit. It seems to go on forever, his eyes squeezed shut, one hand clutched to his mouth while the other reaches blindly for the water he brought with him to the counter. 

There's a warm hand on his back when he finally sucks in real air again, another prodding the cool glass into his open hand. Eyes cracking open, Tony makes sure the glass is actually moving towards his face instead of his left arm or something stupid borne of a sudden lack of coordination and oxygen. He gulps down half the cup at once, heaving as deep a breath as he can when he's done. "So that sucked," he says conversationally. 

As it turns out, the hand between his shoulder blades is attached to one Bruce Banner. "Are you alright?" he asks, adjusting his glasses. "I thought you'd gotten over your flu." 

"Apparently not." Tony shrugs. "Does this mean I get the good drugs?" His lungs are still burning, muscles around the arc reactor still jumping and shivering with each previous cough. It's going to hurt for another hour. 

Bruce sighs, dropping his hand and shuffling over to the nearest stool. "It doesn't," he says. "Sorry. Your body should recover on its own at this point." 

"Boo," Tony says good-naturedly. Then he notices the two agents, who have apparently been staring blankly the whole time. Rude. 

"I hate to say this," Tony says in a perfect imitation of Barton's voice, "but I told you so." 

Their matching scowls deepen. 

"Tony," Bruce says conversationally, stealing a sip from the half-empty glass, "don't antagonize SHIELD's top agents. They could kill you with their pinkies." 

"Quit drinking my water," Tony complains. Bruce only smirks. That jerk. He could bathe in flu germs and not get sick. He says it's because of the Hulk, but Tony suspects it's because he's already bathed in every disease imaginable in every third-world country imaginable. Except the STDs. Bruce is a prude who refuses to sleep with him, so it stands to reason that he hasn't slept with anyone else, either. 

Something spasms in his chest and his breath catches. "Are you sure the flu doesn't warrant painkillers?" 

"Nothing above motrin," Bruce says, and Tony knows they've been doing this all week but he hurts, a hundred times more than a normal person with the flu and it stings that Bruce is acting so annoyed. So exasperated. "You're an Avenger, Tony. Toughen up. You can deal with a few aches and pains." 

"Ugh," Tony moans, pillowing his head with his arms. 

"What is wrong with the Man of Iron?" And there's Thor, bursting into the room with his size and weight and, and noise. Great. 

"Hey, big guy," Tony says, voice muffled by his arms. A heavy hand drops onto his shoulder, earning a wheeze as his lungs compensate. 

"Stark's whining about being sick," Barton explains, nonchalant. Tony feels another spike of irritation. 

"Is this true, Man of Iron?" Thor asks, sounding concerned. Tony garbles an answer into the countertop. The hand on his shoulder squeezes. "You must not act as though you are a child. You are an Avenger, and rather old in Midgardian years." 

"Hey," and yep, that's a whine. "I'm thirty-eight. That's not old." 

"That's middle-aged, Tony," Bruce says patiently. "And you're thirty-nine." 

"Lying about your age?" Romanov snorts. "Grow up." 

"What's Stark complaining about now?" Captain America marches into the room, adjusting the straps on his gloves. "Whatever it is, we don't have time for it." 

"I'm not complaining," Tony objects. Rogers turns an unimpressed eye on him. 

"Sure you're not," he replies. "Stow your problems or stay behind, Stark. We need to get moving. Fury sent an alert not two minutes ago --" He pauses. "Stark, why aren't you in your armor?" 

"I didn't know there was a call to assemble," he says honestly. 

"What did you think when we all assembled in uniform, then?" Thor inquires, moving his beefy hand to his hammer. "Were we not all alerted?"

"My commlink is upstairs," Tony says with a sigh. He heaves himself out of his seat. "I'll go get it." 

"How did you even get on this team?" someone mutters. Tony rolls his shoulders through a flinch. 

"Don't look at me," Romanov mumbles. 

"Maybe you should stay behind," Rogers says with a hint of concern. "You look sick." 

"I've been sick," Tony grouches. "But I'll be there. Just -- commlink." 

"Right," Rogers says, unconvinced. "Meet us at Central Park, then, if you can. Doctor Banner, is he okay to flight?" 

"He should be fine," Bruce assures him. 

"Alright. Avengers, get to the Quinjet." He turns around and leaves the way he came, followed by Thor, Bruce, and Romanov. Clint lingers long enough to say, "maybe you should stay behind." 

Fed up with it all, Tony bristles. "You couldn't last a day without me." 

Clint shakes his head, snatching up the Stark pistol and turning away. "That's the thing, Stark. I really think we could."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments! Your emotional agony made my day so much better -- aah, that probably sounds wrong. XD But I think you know what I mean! Anyways, the feedback I received definitely helped me shape the future of this fic, and will continue to do so if you keep commenting. So, pretty please?

It's almost surprising, how easy it is to set aside their differences and focus on the battle. Or at least, for Tony it is. He's really not as childish as the others apparently assume he is: he knows the destruction of New York is more important than his offense over Clint calling him names. Jesus Christ. 

Normally Tony would be the first one to bitch about twelve-foot flying fucking godzillas, but he's starting to wonder about how much he really does complain. Is it that annoying, really? He keeps quiet, as a test. 

Nobody says anything about his silence. 

By the time he gets to Central Park, Rogers is beaning one of the creatures in the back of the skull with his shield; it shrieks as an ominous cracking sound snaps through the air and topples to the ground, dead. Similarly, Barton is shooting bundles of arrows through another's eyes from the Hulk's shoulders. Romanov is nowhere to be seen, but that's hardly surprising. Limp or twitching hills of scales are scattered amongst the trees. 

Tony abruptly feels useless. Why is he here? 

"Stark," Rogers' voice comes through his commlink, "you're late. What took you so long?"

"I was looking for the guy that managed this," he says easily. "Didn't find anything."

"Your orders," Rogers growls, yanking his bloody shield from the back of the rodent's neck, "were to meet us here." 

"I didn't slow down or anything," Tony argues. "My tower's a bit of a distance away." 

"And you're still just sitting there," Barton scathes between puffs of air. "Why aren't you picking up Natasha?" 

"I don't know where she is," Tony protests, only to be interrupted by the archer. 

"Have you asked?"

"N-not yet, but I just got here --" 

"Why didn't you ask on your way?" 

"I was locating you all first, is why," Tony explains angrily. "Would you shut up and let me speak?" 

"No," Barton says roughly, "because she's been off comms for almost five minutes and you took your goddamned time getting here --" 

"Clint, lay off," Rogers orders. "Stark, go find Natasha and come back here. We should have the rest of these beasts taken care of by then." 

"No thanks to you," Barton mutters, and the commlink clicks off. 

Tony hasn't felt so miserable in weeks. 

"Jarvis," he says wearily, "scan for any Romanov-shaped heat signatures and try to tap into her commlink."

"Sir --" 

"Don't." He sighs, turning away from the battle. "Keep the scans for any suspicious figures running, too. I didn't get to tell them the lizards are half android. Though I suppose they should know that by now." He briefly considers reopening the comm, if only to tell them just in case, but decides against it in favor of his headache and wobbling self-esteem.

"Agent Romanov located," Jarvis replies in a monotone, a little red light sparking to life on the HUD. Tony speeds over to her location. "Excess heat rising from her left ankle, sir, with signs of swelling." 

"Broken or sprained?" Tony asks, thoughts jumping to the contents of his small first aid kit. 

"Most likely a bad sprain, sir." 

"Right." He can deal with that.

**8**

Romanov does not want him to deal with that.

"You're making it worse," she snaps as he tries to elevate her leg. "Can't you take off the gauntlets or something?"

It's like dealing with a pregnant woman. "I can do that," he agrees, internally applauding himself for showing so much verbal restraint. Frustration simmers beneath his skin. Jarvis detaches the gauntlets on his command, and she allows him to lift her leg onto his lap with human hands, she looks uneasy when Jarvis finishes his up-close scanning and declares a small fracture. 

"I'm not a medical expert," Tony offers, "obviously, but back at the tower there's an infirmary. I could have a med team come over?"

"Why?" Romanov asks, blinking. "Isn't the hospital easier?"

"Hospitals suck," he says promptly, and he knows all the Avengers would agree. Nobody on their team likes hospitals, for various reasons. 

"They do." She sighs as he follows his AI's instructions for bandaging her ankle. "How many of those monsters have you taken care of?"

"None," he admits, digging out some tape from the first aid compartment at his hip. "I was sent to find you first."

"You sure took your time," she gripes. He shrugs, a full-body movement in the suit. 

"You weren't exactly easy to find," he answers, gesturing to the fallen logs around the two of them. "Especially not when I felt like puking halfway through my flight." 

"That bad?" She clicks her tongue. "Maybe you shouldn't have come, then. Like you said, you haven't even taken anything down --"

"Watch it," he says abruptly, fingers squeezing her calf. "I hold your future in my hands." He won't injure her further, and they both know it, but the statement is still there: _quit it._ "Both Barton and Rogers promised they had it handled, and put you as first priority."

She purses her lips, likely reading further between the lines than he'd like. He nods and slips her boot back on, mouth twitching at the sight of green striped socks. 

"Barton's under psychological evaluation."

"What?" Tony's hands still as he looks up to stare at her incredulously. 

"He hasn't been doing so well." Romanov refuses to meet his eyes. "The mess you left us with only exacerbated his stress. They took him off the roster when he punched a superior." 

Oh. A bitter feeling curls up in his gut -- guilt, which Tony really doesn't know what to do with. "So that's why he's so pissed off."

"It is." She picks at the dirt scraped into her palm. 

"And you?" he questions. "Is that why you're so --" he shrugs. "I mean, Rogers always has a stick up his ass, but you usually just lurk in the shadows and try to give me a heart attack." 

"Steve's not that bad."

Tony snorts just as his commlink squeals back to life. 

"You found her yet?" Barton says gruffly. "We're waiting for you."

"Yeah, I uh, I got her." He offers an arm, gauntlets snapping back into place, and she uses it to pull herself up to balance standing on one leg. 

"And when did you find her?" 

"A few minutes ago --"

"A few minutes?" Barton demands, voice cracking over the connection. "I could have used that information a few minutes ago, Stark."

"And she has a fractured ankle so I tied it up first," Tony finishes, only a little disconcerted. 

"You could still have told me when you found her!"

"You didn't call in?" Romanov asks, dismayed. Tony's getting the feeling he fucked up again. 

"I was going to bring you over, like they said," he promises. Romanov sighs, swaying a little despite her strong grip on his armor.

"You have to keep them updated, especially your leader," she says. "Communication is key; if you don't talk to everyone else, you're not a part of the team." 

Her words hit Tony like a punch to the gut. _Not a part of the team._ Surely it's not that serious. They knew he was going to bring her back, didn't they? 

Something must show on his face, because she hurries to add, "There's no time to stop and wring checkins out of everyone every five minutes. The Avengers are a response team. They don't have time to stop and wait for you." 

They. The faceplate slides down, hiding the effect her words have on him. Silently, he offers his arms once again. She makes a face but inches forward, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and lift off the ground. 

Barton has his arms crossed with a full-out scowl darkening his face when Tony touches down in the clearing. The stench of dead things permeates the suit and he makes the mistake of wrinkling his nose right as the faceplate slides up. 

" _Finally,_ " Barton says flatly, reaching out to tug Romanov away from the armor. She doesn't allow the mandhandling, but accepts an arm to limp the few steps over to his side. "We managed to kill a dozen of these ugly bastards while we waited for you." 

"And here's your prize," Tony deadpans, waving a hand at the injured agent. "Get a lock on the bad guy?" 

"Thor says they're from another realm. He didn't tell me who he thinks could have brought them here, but his face said Loki," Rogers announces, coming up from behind Tony and giving Romanov a professional once-over. "How's the ankle?"

"Been better," she says. Then, "been worse." 

Rogers nods, frowning. "Good working finding her," he says to Tony, turning to face the armor. "We were starting to worry about the radio silence." 

"He had Natasha the whole time," Barton snits. "We should've sent Thor to get her. At least then we would've heard when he found her."

"No commlink needed," Rogers says wryly. "But then we would've been stuck with Iron Man --"

Ouch. "Excuse you," Tony protests, stepping forward, "my armor is hardly something to be 'stuck with'." 

"It's the person inside," Barton explains, turning away and waving at Hulk, who picks up a dismembered godzilla leg and lumbers over to join them. The leg looks a little gnawed on. 

"It's just that you're sick," Rogers hastens to explain, "and not the best communicator. It's not personal, really, you're just --"

"Not a team player?" Tony quotes Romanov's words on his profile, hurt. The agent herself makes a face, there and gone again and he wonders what it means. After all, her words are nothing less than true. This is becoming more obvious to him as time passes. 

"You're a work in progress," Rogers amends, looking vaguely uncomfortable. He shuffles to the right as Hulk plops to the ground with his lizard leg, pleased as punch. 

"A work in progress," Barton agrees, "and I can list all the things you need to improve. First off, you're an asshole."

"Birdie," Hulk rumbles, "be nice." He's -- yep, he's definitely chewing the shit out of that leg. Tony, morbidly curious, makes a note to ask Bruce what it tastes like. In the meantime, it's nice to have someone on his side. "Stark's just stupid sometimes." 

Or maybe not. "Rude," he answers on autopilot. "I'm a certified genius. This makes me, by default, not stupid."

Hulk snorts. "Says you." 

"I feel like you guys are ganging up on me," Tony says casually, "and just, I don't do well in these types of situations, so if you could all knock back a chill pill or twenty, I'd appreciate it." 

"Ah," Thor says, appearing from out of fucking nowhere right next to Tony, who jumps about ten feet in the air and clutches at his arc reactor. "Darcy told me about the chill pill. It means we need to calm down." He tilts his head. "Why do we need to calm down?"

"You," Tony manages, "need to not pop into existence right in front of my face. Can you give me warning or something? Okay? I feel like you just shaved five years off my life. Christ."

Thor nods seriously. "I will do my best to do so, for you, Man of Iron." 

Sometimes Tony wonders if Thor is even a real person. "Thanks, big guy." 

"Any news on the mastermind behind this?" Rogers asks with a perfectly straight face, as though a) this is something people are supposed to say outside of a TV show, and b) he hadn't just been telling Tony he's not good enough to fight with them. 

"He seems to have disappeared, leaving little to no trace of his existence," Thor reports. 

"Is it Loki?" Clint asks bluntly. Tony pretends not to see the shudder that works through the archer as he asks. "Because if I have to deal with both him and Stark today, I quit." 

"You're not quitting," Rogers says patiently, "and if it were Loki, Thor would be sure to tell us."

"Of course," Thor says, clearing his throat. "With this in mind, I feel that I must inform you --"

There's a white light, and then Tony is alone. 

"Guys?" he asks cautiously, armor resealing, but all the answer he gets is the honking of someone's car horn a mile or so away. He scans the whole park, Jarvis already telling him what his mind refuses to process: the Avengers have just vanished into thin air a la Thor with the Bifrost, except there's no pattern burnt into the ground. 

"So, Man of Iron," a horrifically familiar voice says from behind him. "I hear you're not really an Avenger, so I took the liberty of excluding you from the spell."

Tony whirls around through the sting of hurt -- _even the bad guys noticed?_ \-- but there's no one there. "Jarvis," he barks, mind's eye filled with broken glass and holes in the sky and sitting in an empty room.

"Scans indicate no one is present, sir." 

"Shit," Tony curses. "Loki?"

A blow to the faceplate knocks him flat on his ass. "You're still a nuisance, though," he hears through the static of the malfunctioning HUD. "Do stay out of my way for a few hours, will you?" 

What? He tries to clear his head, but repeated blows to the helmet prevent him from getting to his knees, or so much as hearing Jarvis' alerts. Red alarms flash before his eyes and he picks out the word CRITICAL before a blow to the back of the head knocks him out completely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jus a quick update while I gather my thoughts. Your comments are my lifelood, friends. Please continue sharing your thoughts. :)

There's a buzzing sound on the edge of his hearing. Curious, Tony tries to reach for it. 

"..."

It's hard to move amongst all the black. 

"....r..."

Hey, he got something. Suddenly anxious, he pauses. Does he want to know what the buzzing is saying?

"Sir." 

Red washes over the black and he jumps back into consciousness. 

"Sir, you must wake up."

"'Mhere, J." But speaking hurts, his mouth dry and bitter tasting. He groans. "Th'fuck?"

"Welcome back, sir," and that's relief in Jarvis's voice. "You're exhibiting signs of a severe concussion. I would advise you try to move carefully."

A concussion? Tony frowns as he tries to remember what that is. When it comes to him, so does everything else. "Feel like I met the business end of a bomb," he grunts, squinting at the blank HUD. Rather than a three dimensional screen, there's a spiderweb of cracks and a dent pressing into his cheekbone. Also, opening his eyes is proving to have been a mistake. "Any news on the team?" he asks, locating his limbs and forcing himself to his hands and knees. A wave of nausea gives him pause while he focuses on not throwing up. 

"None, sir," Jarvis says apologetically. Tony's so fucking thankful his AI can tap through the comms in situations like this. "Though I feel I should inform you that privacy settings have been activated on the common floor of Avengers Tower."

"Only the team can do that," Tony mutters, surprised. His head pounds as he tries to think. "Thought you said you didn't have anything on them."

"The Avengers were not present when this happened," Jarvis reports. "Presently I am unable to perceive the goings-on of that floor."

"Privacy mode'll do that to ya," Tony sighs, sinking back to the ground. Grey spots at the edges of his vision make it hard to focus. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "I'll uh, when I get back t' the Tower I'll give the override."

"Sir," Jarvis says, alarmed, "please stay awake. You must get to a medical facility."

"Hrnnng," he mumbles. "Later." 

"Sir, please --"

**8** 

"Mr Stark --"

"Iron Man --" 

"Is he awake?" 

"Somebody tap the helmet or something."

"Is he alive?"

"Is that blood?"

Tony groans. The noises outside stop. 

"J, why is it so noisy?" 

"News crews and journalists have gathered around you, sir."

"People?" he asks, muddled. "Why are there people?"

"Because," and now Jarvis sounds nothing short of miffed, "you've been lying in the armor in the middle of a battlefield for no less than seven hours."

Tony garbles unintelligibly. "Why."

"You have a concussion, sir. We've had this discussion four times." 

"Hm." He cracks his eyes open, and in the absence of blinding light, blinks. "Does that mean permanent damage?"

"Fortunately for you, sir, short-term encoding failure is common for people with concussions."

"Oh, good."

"Mr Stark, are you alright?" A woman's voice from outside. 

Tony lifts his head off the ground, neck protesting at the weight of the crushed helmet. The HUD is dark. "Peachy," he sighs. 

"The suit should come online in ninety-seven seconds, sir," Jarvis promises. 

Tony scowls, peeved. "Why didn't this happen sooner? Preferably seven hours ago?"

"You were concussed," Jarvis says primly, "and in no state to pilot the suit." 

"And?" 

"And an unknown enemy suspected to be Loki drained the power reserves."

Tony's head hits the ground. "Fffffffffffuck." 

"Mr Stark?" Another voice from outside. 

"Yep," he yells, "I'm good!" 

This time his voice makes it through the cracked and damaged helmet, starting a flurry of mutterings and activity. 

"Mr Stark, can you tell us what happened?"

"Mr Stark, would you mind telling us why you're still in Central Park?"

"Mr Stark, where is your team?" 

That gives Tony pause. "J, where's the team?" he demands. 

"At the moment I am unable to locate the Avengers," says Jarvis. "I am sorry, sir." 

"Why?"

Jarvis is so kind to tell him the answers everything he's been asking for the last seven hours. 

"So then they have to be on the common floor," Tony realizes. "Were they invisible or something? You have the tech to sense them, J." 

"I do, sir," his AI agrees. "They simply were not there." 

"But what --" 

"Suit online," Jarvis announces above the familiar whine of the suit rebooting. Instantly the weight of the suit is gone as the joints lock up millimeters above where they were digging into his skin. 

"Pins and needles, pins and needles," Tony moans. "Ow." 

"Which medical facility would you prefer?" asks Jarvis. A list of nine appears on the HUD, rendered illegible by the damage to the screen. 

"The Tower," Tony decides. 

"But sir, you are in no state to confront anyone," Jarvis protests, "physically or emotionally." 

Tony narrows his eyes. "The Tower, Jarvis."

"But sir --"

"I'll get scanned in the new med floor after I check out the common floor, okay?" 

"Fine," Jarvis says, with far too much sass and petulance for an AI his age. 

The suit helps Tony push himself to his feet, working through the dizziness and nausea and pain that punches him in the gut. "Am I bleeding?" he asks no one in particular, and apparently the suit's speakers are back online because he gets a solid round of "yes"es by the crowd he can sort of see around him. 

A reporter or something steps closer. "Mr Stark," she begins, and oh boy, "why isn't your team here to help you?" 

"Good question," he grunts without thinking. Then he realizes what he just said and sighs. "Look guys," he says, projecting his voice, "I'm on Avengers business at the moment, so if you'll clear out some I can get out of here and find my team. And get this stupid helmet off. It's digging into places it shouldn't be digging into."

"You're injured," someone says in alarm. 

"Of course I'm injured," Tony says, exasperated. "I'm concussed. Now give me room." 

The crowd dutifully backs up several feet. 

"J," Tony commands, "take me to Avengers Tower."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where you decide whether or not you wanna stick around. Here's hoping you do!
> 
> PS President Ellis is the president in MCU. :)

"Who is the President of the United States?"

"President Ellis, Jesus Christ, Jarvis, I'm fine --"

"What is the name of your first date?"

"I --" Tony frowns. "I don't know. Shit, is that --"

"No, sir, you never learned her name." 

"Oh. Alright." 

"You seem to be alright, sir," Jarvis reassures him. "I would still recommend the MRI, to check for bleeding." 

"Can't, sorry, the arc reactor interferes --"

"You altered one to not be affected, sir, and you know it," Jarvis interrupts, reproving. "Don't argue. I just want to make sure you are truly out of danger." 

"Yeah, alright." 

"WebMD suggests nonaspirin and rest under observation," Jarvis states. 

"Sure, fine," Tony agrees. "I've got you and the boys, right? No painkillers," he adds, even as his head throbs with Migraine's little bitch brother. 

"Perhaps that would be best," Jarvis concedes. 

Tony hovers over the platform leading to the Car Wash, indecisive. 

_I'm disgusted._

_Don't be such a baby._

_Stow your problems or stay behind, Stark._

_How did he even get on this team?_

_Maybe you should stay behind._

"Sir?" Jarvis prompts. Tony startles, the suit jumping up a foot or so in his surprise. 

"Yep, yeah, no, I'm just thinking about the problems the car wash is gonna have with the uh," Tony scrambles for a way to complete his lie, "helmet. I hear it's damaged enough that you can see blood. Which is gross, like its skin split and bled. Cuz, you know, that would make the suit kind of humanlike in a creepy and disturbing way. Flesh and blood and all. Scowly face. Hands and really well done finger joints, I'm so proud of those --"

"Sir," Jarvis slides his way into Tony's tirade, "you do not have to go inside."

"I know, Jarvis," Tony replies, nerves all twisted up inside. "But I'm going to, anyways." 

"Please disengage privacy mode so I may join you," Jarvis requests, and who is Tony to deny him? 

"Course I will. Just gotta... brave the car wash."

"The car wash. Of course."

He doesn't move.

"It might hurt, J," Tony says softly, and he's not talking about having the helmet removed.

"I will be here," his AI promises. Tony takes comfort from that, knowing full well they understand each other perfectly.

The car wash is a goddamn work of art, a technological marvel, even for Tony Stark. All he has to do is drop onto the landing pad and walk, and mechanical arms equipped with the highest quality recognition software unfold and remove the armor safely, as programmed. He doesn't often use it when the suit is damaged, though, and it shows; Tony barely resists the urge to scream like a little girl when the arms try to tug the faceplate upwards, as is the norm, causing the dents and tears in the metal to bite into his skin. 

"Knock it off," he snaps, batting them away. "Jarvis can do it. J?"

"Integrating," Jarvis says in a monotone. "Integration complete." The arms shudder, collapsing, before picking up and moving with precision to remove his battered helmet as carefully as possible. "Do try to hold still, sir."

The rest of the car wash goes smoothly. Tony remembers the first time the other Avengers saw him using it -- he's mostly sure they were joking about him being lazy and throwing money at things he didn't feel like doing himself. For the first time he wonders if they even know he designed and built it. 

It's harder to step down from the boots than he expected. There's a minuscule hop to the floor that he normally doesn't think about, but the jolt sends him reeling. He stumbles forward, hand to his head, and collides with the wall. It takes him a few moments of just standing there to regain his equilibrium. 

"Ow," he says when he can stand straight.  "Maybe I do need to go lay down."

"Indeed," Jarvis says dryly. "Please disengage privacy mode. I cannot follow you onto that floor." 

"Sure." Every step is torture. Tony shuffles his way to the elevator, one hand on any available surface and the other half shielding his eyes from the artificial lights that turned on at dusk. 

The elevator is worse. Even though it's the smoothest, fastest ride in the country, possibly the world, Tony can feel every jerk and bump, hear the whistle of the tin box dropping and it's one of the worst experiences he's had in a while. By the time it stops on the common floor, he's bent double and trying not to throw up. The halt is so abrupt he topples over, hitting his head on the chrome wall. 

"God, why," he groans from the floor. 

The doors slide open with a cheerful chime. 

**8**

Privacy mode is activated by either verbal command or inputting the code into the system via the keypad by the elevator doors. Deactivating privacy mode can only be done with the code. One hand on the wall, Tony staggers over to the stupid fucking keypad and viciously punches his override in. There's a familiar hum as Jarvis reactivates his systems in the walls. Hidden security cameras and alarms quietly come to life, subtle as ever and damn near invisible to anyone but Tony and the spies. 

"Now," Tony says peevishly, preparing himself for he daunting task of turning around and dealing with his team, "I'd like a good explanation for why you guys ditched me at Central Park, pretty fucking please --" 

He freezes at a small sniffling sound. 

"Is that Barton I hear?" he asks in what he hopes is a teasing tone. He turns around slowly, in case there's a gun at his head. Hopefully it's not the ugly Soviet piece of crap, if he's going to die at least let it be by his own hand, however indirect -- 

"Mister?" a tiny blond boy says, voice quivering. His blue eyes are huge, red-rimmed with dark shadows. He wipes his running nose on the massively oversized lump of blue leather he's got draped over his body. "You're bleeding. Are you okay?" 

Tony stares, shocked. Two other small kids come up, wide-eyed and curious. Another two hang back, wary of him. 

"Steve Rogers?" he finally splutters. The little blond boy nods cautiously. Tony's gaze drifts to the others. "Is that -- are you Thor?" A bigger blond grins. 

"That's my name!" he says proudly. 

"Oh my god," Tony says faintly. "Okay. Sure. And I bet that's Bruce over there, probably Barton there, so you're Natasha..."

"My name is Natalia," the redheaded girl corrects him, in flawless Russian. 

"Oh, sure, of course," he says weakly. "Natalia. Um. Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?" 

"Are hallucinations a symptom of grade three concussions?"

"I'm afraid this is very real, sir. I am indeed surprised as well."

"Yeah," he says faintly, tottering over to the couch. "I just uh, need to rest a minute. Call me when the world makes sense." 

"Sir, you should call for Miss Potts --" 

He hits the cool black leather and passes out. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too thrilled with this chapter, starting to lose my drive to write... I live for comments, though. So, pretty please?

There's a length of grey sky and dead grass between him and Loki. 

"Your 'practical villainy' doesn't look all that practical from here," Tony says, arms crossed. 

Loki grins, gaunt and sinister. His arms are lax at his sides, though one hand twitches toward his coat occasionally: a sure sign of a weapons user itching for some form of defense. Tony feels just a little smug about that. "Oh, it's practical," he replies. "It's mostly a matter of my lifetime versus yours." 

"Nope, I don't get it," Tony says flippantly. "Try again." 

Loki's smile frays around the edges. "I wouldn't expect you to 'get it.' Think of it this way: children are nothing but bright eyes and malleable minds." The smile flashes brittle. "You can stuff anything into their heads and they'll believe it." 

"So, teach them to be your little servants, and then what?" asks Tony. "Have them grow up that way? You won't be doing anything to stop anyone causing you problems on this planet today."

"If I do it right," Loki says, "I don't have to wait."

"The fuck does that mean?" 

"It doesn't concern you," Loki snaps, "because you were too useless for me to bother with." 

Tony jerks back like he's been slapped. "Excuse you?" he blusters. "I'm the smartest person on the team!"

"And the most arrogant, the most stubborn, the most foolish, and the weakest." Loki shrugs. "To put it plainly, you have too many problems. You're damaged, you were even at a young age. It would be too much trouble to try to train you. All you have going for you is the Iron Man, and you didn't build that at age four." 

That does it. "Is this my subconscious speaking?" he demands, staring up at the sky. "Am I dreaming? You're voicing too many of my issues at once to be real."

"This is, in fact, a dream," Loki agrees. "But it is real." 

Ton narrows his eyes. "So, what, you broke into my dream to insult me?" 

"Essentially," says Loki. "Though I'm also answering your questions." 

"One more, then," Tony says, scowling. "Why haven't you taken the kids and run?"

"Call me curious," his enemy says, devilish smile returning. "You just have so many daddy issues. I'm wondering how long it'll take before you turn to the drink, much like your own father. You won't last very long, I don't think."

If nothing else, that burns. "Get the fuck out of my dream," he snarls. Loki grins wider before vanishing, the afterimage of his smile imprinted in Tony's mind. 

**8**

"Tony? Tony, please.

"I will have Dummy douse you with the fire extinguisher." 

"Hrrrgh?" Tony mumbles, easing into wakefulness. "Pep?"

"Yes, Tony. Jarvis called." 

"What for?" he asks, and he truly can't work out why until the headache slams back into him. He actually flinches at the force of it, slapping a hand over his eyes before he can open them. "Right," he continues, and it's significantly harder to speak clearly and still be loud enough for Jarvis to pick up. "I think my symptoms are getting worse. J?"

"Post concussion syndrome, sir," Jarvis says immediately. "In which people who have suffered multiple concussions through their lives are more likely to retain symptoms such as light sensitivity, chronic headaches, and dizziness for an extended period of time. There is also a risk of permanency." 

Tony groans. "Kill me now." 

"Or," Pepper's voice returns, and Tony can tell it's not a live video by the sound quality, "you could send those doctors from the med floor up to give you a prolotherapy injection."

"A what?"

"Do you remember when the LA headquarters was bombed last year?" Pepper asks. "And I got hit in the head?"

"Sure," Tony replies. "I still don't know how you just walked it off." 

"I 'walked it off' after a prolotherapy injection," she explains. "It's usually a shot to the neck so it hurts, but it reduces the internal swelling and you're good to go in fifteen minutes."

"Awesome," Tony says, "I want one."

**8**

"So they said I have to sit here longer, because it took so long to get the shot," Tony complains. Pepper was right: the shot hurt, and it took three minutes for the doctor to brave stabbing him in the neck. 

"And you'll do it," Pepper decides. 

Tony makes a face, vision clear and headache fading. Thank fuck. "I've been sitting here long enough. I have stuff to do."

"I just cleared your schedule for the next three days so you can recover," Pepper says promptly. "As your boss and ex-girlfriend, I am well within my rights to leave you to suffer, but I didn't. Here's where you say thank you."

"Thank you, Pep," Tony obliges. "I'm glad you can just say that so casually." And he mostly is, it just still hurts for him to think about. He never quite understood why he isn't good enough for her _("Is it something I did?" he'd asked, and she'd kissed him on the cheek and said sadly, "It's not that, Tony, I promise. It's that our relationship is the company. Aside from Stark Industries, we just have nothing in common.")_. "But I still have important stuff to deal with."

"You better not be talking about the workshop, Tony, because I swear --"

"Not the workshop," Tony says irritably, "I have kids." There's a long pause, during which he realizes how he neglected to tell her about the team. Ah, shit.

"Kids?" Pepper repeats dangerously. " _You have kids?_ "

"Uh yes, in my house, right now, in the -- Jarvis, where are they?"

"In the room to your right, sir, watching Snow White."

"Right. Kids in the other room, watching a Disney movie. Well," he considers, "the Terrible Twins are probably plotting my execution, but hey. Semantics."

"Twins, Tony?" Pepper questions. "How old are they?"

"Uh, little?" Tony tries. He thinks about his dream-not-dream and adds, "maybe four-ish." 

"And when did you think it might be a good idea to tell me you have children?" Now her voice is icing over and Tony realizes he's doing this all wrong. 

"They just appeared, out of nowhere," he protests, "like, yesterday. Or today. I dunno, time's been a little muggy." 

"How muggy, Tony! _How many children do you have!"_

"Five," he answers smartly. "All age four."

"Five -- _five children?_ Did you forget what a condom is that year?"

"Oh Jesus, no. No, they're not mine. Well, sort of, I'm responsible for them, but --" 

"How are you _sort of_ the father of five kids?"

"Whoa," Tony objects, "nobody said I was the father. Hell no." 

"Are you trying to tell me these are your teammates' children, because --"

"No, Pep, I swear," he says, relieved for an opportunity, "it's that my teammates are kids. All five," he adds into the silence. "Age four. Thanks, Loki." 

There's a click as Pepper hangs up. 

"Great." 

**8**

He's barely moved when she calls back. 

"Explain," is all she says, and it's enough. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, for all you folks who hoped for this to take a different turn, tada! I hereby answer your calls with what is, essentially, an opposites fic. It features generally the same starting plot, but with a different twist, featuring kid!Tony, and will be titled I Wanted to Say This. I'll be putting this one up soon. 
> 
> Now, I'm doing this for two reasons: first off, I've gotten some messages from people who insulted this fic and offended me because it didn't go the way they wanted. I gotta say, guys, this isn't fair. If you read the prompt at all you would know exactly what will happen. This new fic is partially in answer to the rude dissenters. However, it's also for me. I hate to say this (har har) but those people made me stop and think about how this fic would go if Tony were de-aged instead. The perfect prompter came around, and it was like all the blanks in my secondary story line were filled. Thus, the new fic. 
> 
> I won't be abandoning this one, of course. This is mostly as thanks to you, the readers, especially to the commenters. Comments mean the world to me, because without comments it feels like I'm alone in the little universe I created. Which is sad. 
> 
> Anyways, keep on being awesome. Enjoy the update. 

They discuss the events leading up to the situation as the moon rises in the sky. The talk mostly consists of Tony's encounter with Loki, which Pepper seems to enjoy fuming over. He doesn't tell her about the dream. 

"So now you have kids."

"Now I have kids," Tony agrees, slouching into the couch cushions. There's a long pause. He thinks he might be able to hear the kids bickering in the other room. 

"Well," Pepper says finally, "you won't have to worry about it much longer." 

Tony starts. "What?" he asks, confused and more than a little hopeful. "Are you coming to help me with them?"

"I'm solving your problem from right here," she answers firmly. "Jarvis will fax you the papers. In the meantime I suggest you call SHIELD again --"

"Again?" And Tony realizes he hasn't thought of the agency at all. 

"I took the liberty of attempting to contact SHIELD when you were knocked unconscious, sir," Jarvis admits. "They did not answer." 

"Why not?" 

"I am unsure," Jarvis says. "Their phone lines seem to be disconnected." 

Tony groans. "First kids, now SHIELD? Call Fury's personal phone."

"Dialing." 

"Stark?" Fury's voice crackles over a shitty connection -- sign number one of a cheap burner phone. "How did you get this number? Do I even want to know?"

"Nope," Tony says cheerfully. "So what's up with SHIELD, Angry? Why'd you ditch me in Central Park? I'm hurt. I thought we had something." 

"SHIELD is compromised six ways to Sunday," is Fury's response. "But not in the conventional way." 

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means we're all on involuntary quarantine," Fury snaps. "We're all locked in the building, separated from the tech that could get us out. The power's out, the emergency nine inch thick steel doors are closed, locked, and overridden, and anything that looks like it could be an escape route is sealed tight enough that we can't get through." 

It takes Tony a while to process this. "You're stuck in HQ?"

"That's what I said. We could really use Thor's hammer right about now."

Tony glances to the left, spotting said hammer lying on its side. "Yeah, not happening." 

"And why the hell not?" 

"Because I've got a bunch of mini Avengers running around my tower, and no big Avengers in sight." 

"God fucking -- are you kidding me right now?" demands Fury. Tony shrugs. 

"'Fraid not."

"Fix it." The line goes dead. 

"That's the second time I've been hung up on today," Tony says. "I'm starting to take it personally." 

"I'm so sorry, "Pepper apologizes, line still open. "Here, I just sent the papers to you."

"It's fine." Tony waves a hand. "J, pull up the papers Pep sent. And, uh, why don't you go hop in a suit and see what you can do about HQ, yeah?"

"Of course, sir." One by one, digital files pop up in front of him. Tony grimaces. Legal work. "Great. What is all this even for?"

This is why he hates dealing with the law. If a lawyer can draw a sentence out to the point where it's physically painful to understand, they'll do it. He much prefers that they'd just get to the point. Which is why he's not sure he properly understands what he's looking at. 

"Pep," he says, clearing his throat. "Pepperpot, what exactly am I reading here? Because it looks a lot like --"

"Five sets of papers for foster care?" 

"Yes, that, and I don't understand why I'm looking at these." He swallows his anxiety, leaning in closer as though the words will suddenly make sense. "They have the team's names on them, Pep, what --"

"SHIELD can't care for kids," she says bluntly. "I don't have time to do it. And neither can you. They have no known relatives, aside from Thor, but we have no way to contact his family. You have less than no experience with children."

"I have the bots," Tony argues. "I take care of them."

"They're bots, Tony," Pepper says with a hint of exasperation. "I know you love them, but they're not the children you think they are. They don't require love, attention, three meals a day and bathtime. They aren't, aren't real. Not like a human is." 

And that hurts, hurts deeply because he thought she knew how he cares about his bots. Then again, maybe she does. "Pep --" 

"No, Tony," she says. "You can't do it, and I'm not going to let you try it. Sign the papers. We'll have the children out and dealt with by morning."

"But what if they turn back?" is the only argument he can think of. 

"Then they turn back," she says simply. "And we have the Avengerd again."

"Pepper, I --"

"Sign the papers, Tony," she says, quieter, "please." 

 

He actually considers it for a few seconds.

"No." 

"No?" Pepper repeats, incredulous. "Tony, listen to me --"

"The team would do it if I were turned into a kid," Tony interrupts. "They wouldn't send me off to some random asshole's house. I trust them to take care of me," no matter how nightmarish the mental image is, no matter what they say to him, "and they trust me to take care of them now." He hopes.

"Tony," she protests. "Prepared, responsible parents have trouble with just one child. You are neither prepared nor a parent, and you're not great about your own care and keeping. You can't honestly think you can handle five kids. It's just not feasible." 

"You can't change my mind, Pepper," he says, wondering if he's finally lost it. "I can do it." 

"But Tony --"

"Jarvis," he commands, and yep, he's gone mad, "delete the files. I never saw them."

"If you're sure, sir," and the pages disappear one by one. 

Pepper sighs, and Tony's so glad he can't see her face. "This isn't a good idea."

"I know," he says agreeably. 

"And not just because you're trying to play parent to five kids," she adds. "It's just... you know, you all have..."

"Issues?"

"... right. Issues. And how much do you know about your team's histories? For a lot of people, their problems start in childhood."

"They never did want to tell me much," Tony admits, "which I think is sort of unfair, considering they know everything about me." 

"Oh god, Tony," she groans, and there's a thudding sort of sound that implies her head just hit the desk. "You could walk all over their triggers."

"I'll make it work," he assures her. "I'm good at that, making things work."

"People aren't machines," she sighs, "and I think that's the point you're missing here."

Tony stays silent. 

Another sigh. "Look, Tony," she tries, "I want to think you can do this. I understand what the team means to you. I do. And that's why I'm giving you four days to prove you can care for them until they turn back. Okay?"

"Four days?" he repeats, confused. "Are you going to come over and, what, check on me?" 

"If I have to," she replies. "I'm serious about this, Tony. It's not going to be easy. If you have problems, you have to let me know. Okay?" 

"I will," he promises. "Seriously, Pep. I can do this."

"We'll see," she says, and hangs up. 

There's a long silence, during which Tony starts to process the reality of the responsibility he just took on. Responsibility gives him hives. What is he doing?

"Miss Potts means well, sir," Jarvis says. 

"I know," he says. "And that's why I'm not mad. This is why we didn't work out, right?"

"Perhaps part of it, sir."

"I'm starting to see it.

"How are the kids, J?"

"There seems to be a scuffle. A child identified as Steven Rogers approaches."

Sure enough, Tony hears a door swing open and little footsteps as the small child appears. 

"Mister," he says fearfully, eyes wide and chest heaving. He clutches the blue leather on his chest. "The other boy is being mean! He hit Clint!" 

Oh god. Here it comes. "Which other boy?" he asks, getting to his feet and following little Steve back to the other kids. 

"The one who didn't tell us his name, with brown hair."

"Bruce?" he asks sharply, but Steve just shrugs. 

"Dunno."

There's yelling and crying on the other side of the door. Tony feels the first stirrings of anxiety in his chest at the sound of a child's distress. He pushes the door open.

The sandy-haired child, Clint, is sprawled on the rug with a hand to his cheek, tears in his eyes as he hiccups and sobs. Thor crouches next to him, offering a hand. Tony catches a glimpse of scarlet behind a chair. 

And Bruce, the little brown-haired boy, is screaming unintelligibly at the two boys on the rug, hands balled into fists and slowly turning green. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is the part where I tell you I'm using Hulk (2003) canon instead of The Incredible Hulk (with Edward Norton, currently used as MCU canon). This is cuz I like it better. If you're not familiar with this film, feel free to watch it, or not. Either way you'll be reading about it in this fic._

"Bruce?" Tony approaches him slowly, warily, hands up in the universal "I-mean-no-harm" position. "You okay, buddy?" 

The young boy looks up at him, face scrunched up and furious tears leaking from his eyes. "Go away!" he shrieks, throwing his hands up. He stumbles off the couch and backs away. "Get out!" 

This is where logic comes in. Tony eyes the deep green splotching his face and arms. From what he knows, that shouldn't be happening. The incident with the Hulk serum and the radiation didn't happen at such a young age. Could Loki not take away the Hulk?

But when he stops and thinks about it, the patchy green spots look a little different than normal, and nothing's swelling up as the child's rage and fear builds. "Bruce," he says cautiously, "you're turning green."

Bruce's shoulders jump up to his ears. "So?" he demands. "I always do that. I don't wanna talk to you! Adults are mean!" 

"I will have you know I am the coolest adult I know," Tony retorts refexively. Strangely enough, Bruce seems to actually stop and consider that.

"Prove it," he declares. Tony notes that, with his distraction, the jade spots are fading. 

"I build robots," Tony says challengingly. "I have cool cars. I don't like vegetables. Sleepovers are fun." Okay, the last one, he's not so sure about. The only sleepovers he's eve had involved sex good enough for a porno... mostly. But television makes kiddy sleepovers seem fun enough, right? 

Bruce's eyes narrow dangerously, but before he can speak, another kid speaks up. "I don't see no robots."

It's Clint, sitting up and clutching his purpling cheek. He scowls up at Tony. "B'sides, robots ain't real 'n I don't trust you." 

"That's fine," Tony says, turning to face the boy. What're adults supposed to do here? There's a thing that adults are supposed to do, he knows, to make kids like them better. 

He thinks of the adults from his past, dressed to the nines and looming over him. Talking down to him, acting like they were his superiors and relishing in it. He remembers hating it, wishing he could prove himself. Wishing he could be as tall as them, so they couldn't look down their noses like that. 

Mind made up, Tony plops down onto the floor next to Clint, who yelps and scrambles back into Thor. 

"Look, kids," he says, "I don't know why you started fighting, but I'd like to hear why. Anybody want to share?"

Bruce inches closer, wide-eyed but no longer shaking. "It's my fault," he volunteers. "Sorry, Clint." 

Clint nods warily, eyes darting between the other boy's hands and face. "'S okay." He turns to Tony, still suspicious but willing to cooperate. "He hit me cuz we were talking about where our families was, an' I said he prolly didn't have any. Cuz he sat by himself and didn't talk." 

"I don't have a family," Bruce says miserably. "I dunno where my dad is but my mom's gone."

"Gone, gone?" Thor suddenly speaks up, curious. "Like a warrior's death gone?"

Bruce makes a face. "Mom's not a warrior," he says, "she's a mom. And she's gone because there was blood and the doctors said they couldn't do anything. I think dad did it," he adds in a hushed voice, almost a whisper. Tony sucks in a breath at the implications: how much did he see of it? is he saying his father murdered his mother? He wants very badly to reach over and give the sad little boy a hug, but he's giving of don't-touch-me vibes so strongly he keeps quiet. 

Thor has no such compunctions. "I don't understand," he says, scrunching up his face. "My mom's a mom and a warrior. She and father are teaching me how to be a warrior, too." 

"My dad was a soldier," Steve volunteers, tottering closer from the doorway, where he'd been silently watching. "That's kinda like a warrior." 

"Okay!" Tony claps his hands once, forcing on a smile and stopping this conversation before it gets out of hand. "Look at all of us sharing our life stories, it's great. Now, we need to make sure this doesn't happen again. You could really hurt each other. Especially you, big guy." He points at Thor. "Be gentle." 

Thor scoffs and opens his mouth, only to shut it when Tony raises an eyebrow. 

"Mister?" 

"Yeah?" Tony turns to Steve, who's as tall standing up as Tony is sitting down. He looks pensive. 

"Where's my mom?" 

Ohhhh god, and he hasn't even thought of what to say to that. He sort of gapes and flaps a hand for a few seconds before managing, "Babysitter. I'm your babysitter." 

"Liar." That's Natasha, speaking flawless Russian as she creeps forward from around the couch. She's scowling. "You're our new handler."


	8. Chapter 8

"Come again?" Tony says blankly, staring at the young girl. "A handler? Do I look like a handler to you?"

"You all look different," Natalia says dismissively, glowering. 

"I'm speaking English," Tony feels the need to point out. "You're not."

She hesitates now. "I don't like to," she says. "All my other handlers were mean about it."

Aha. Sensing a weak spot, Tony presses, "I won't be. I promise." 

"You all say that," she complains, arms crossing tighter. Her empty scowl bleeds away to show a distressed frown. "But you're all mean."

"I'm not a handler," Tony says firmly. "Watch, I've been learning Russian, but I'm really bad at it."

"You all speak Russian," she mutters. 

"Maybe they do," Tony concedes, "but I'm only learning so I can speak with y -- with a friend. It was her first language, and she uses it sometimes so no one can understand her. I wanna speak it with her, so that we can have secret conversations." 

"That's silly." 

He smiles. "But it's fun. How about this." He goes to sit a few feet away from her. "I'll try speaking Russian, and then you'll try speaking English. Okay? I won't tease you." 

Slowly, she nods. 

"Okay." He takes a deep breath before attempting a sentence in clumsy Russian. "I like to eat pie." 

Natalia (Natasha, Natalie, god he can never win) wrinkles her nose, seemingly unable to help a smile. "You're bad at Russian."

"Thanks," Tony deadpans in English. "Your turn."

She abruptly looks nervous again. "I don't --"

"You said."

"I know..."

"Wait." Bruce takes a couple steps closer, wiping his tears away with one oversized sleeve. "What game are you playing? I wanna play too!" 

 "Sure," he says amiably, pulling the kid closer. He pretends he doesn't notice how Bruce tenses up before relaxing into Tony's (awkward awkward awkward) one-armed hug. "Natalia here is gonna practice speaking English. You can be the judge with me."

"What's a judge?" Another voice pipes up, the child it came from tugging on his shirt. It's Clint, cheek bruised and looking desperately curious. Distrust apparently forgotten, he inches closer to Tony's other side.

I thought you didn't trust me, Tony doesn't say. Instead, "a judge is someone who makes decisions based on evidence. Natalia here thinks she's bad at speaking English, so I told her if she tries I can decide whether she really is bad or not." 

"Can I be a judge, too?" Steve asks, wiping his nose for the hundredth time. Tony's nose itches just thinking about it. 

"Of course you can." 

"Thanks!" Steve says with a smile, and tucks himself under Tony's free arm. Clint makes a noise to match the sudden scowl on his face, and drops himself into Tony's cross-legged lap instead. 

Oh god. What. All that's left is --

"I wish to join you!" Thor cries, and tackles his spine with a kidgardian hug. Tony chokes on air for a couple seconds, until the body slam feels less like someone just threw him into a wall and more like a hug from behind. Thor's head pops up between Tony's cheek and Bruce's hair. 

"Okay," he wheezes. "Sure. Natalia, you good?" 

Somehow, impossibly, she looks more anxious than before. "I can't."

"Why not?" Tong challenges. 

"Because I'm no good," and she's an inch from wailing over it, "and now there's lots of people watching and I'm gonna mess up!"

"What's she saying?" Clint whispers loudly. Tony rolls his eyes.

"That if you don't stop talking now she's going to tie you to the ceiling by your toes."

"Not my toes!" Clint gasps, grabbing at his bare feet. Bruce and Steve laugh. Thor just makes a confused noise.

Natalia giggles hysterically for a few seconds before slapping a hand over her mouth. "I didn't!" she protests, grinning. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to tell them that, then, because that's what I heard." 

"I'm gonna."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Mhm."

She glares at him, to which he responds with a winning smile. The boys wait with baited breath, intent on playing their roles as judges. 

"I didn't say that," she says finally, achingly slow, in heavily accented English. 

There's a long pause. 

"Did you just say...." Clint frowns thoughtfully, "that you didn't say that?"

"Didn't say what?" Bruce inquires. 

"I wouldn't do that to your toes," she says, still in English. She's fluent, Tony approves, or nearly. It's her accent that's warping her words. He opens his mouth to congratulate her, but she surprises them all with a wicked grin as she continues, "I would string you up like a spider does a fly." 

Clint shrieks in mock terror, waving an arm that hits Tony in the jaw and upsets a cozy-looking Steve. 

"Ow," they both complain. Clint smiles sheepishly. 

"Looks like you pass," Tony says with a smile. "We can all understand you. Right, Thor? Steve?"

That's when he notices the growing wet spot on his shirt, right about where Steve's mouth should be. On closer inspection, he discovers that the boy isn't just cozy: he's asleep. 

"Okay," he says, at a loss. "Well, speaking for Steve, your English is fine. Good. Great." 

Natalia beams. 

"I don't understand," Thor says, bewildered. "I knew what she was saying the whole time." 

"You know what I'm saying?" she asks in Russian. He nods. 

"You all sound the same," he confirms. 

"That's because you have All-Speak," Tony remembers. "You can understand what everyone's saying, even in different languages."

"What do you mean?" Thor asks, brow furrowed. His grip around Tony's waist tightens. "Here there is only one language." 

And oh, but Tony has a really bad feeling about this. "Uh, Thor..."

The Asgardian's fingers dig into his skin painfully. "Am I not on Asgard?"

"Well," Tony tries, "no, but --"

"No?" Thor jerks back. "Then where --? Midgard?"

"Yeah, actually, um --"

"That's why you wear different clothes!" he exclaims, looking to be an inch away from panic. Or a pinkie length, or whatever system Asgardians measure with. "And why everything is so different!" He darts out the door. 

"Jarvis," Tony calls, alarmed, "stop him! Kids, watch Steve and stay put." He wiggles his way out of their grasp and lurches to his feet. "Thor could get himself hurt, and we don't want that --" He's out the door before he can finish his own sentence, tearing down the corridor. 

As suspected, he finds Thor on a balcony. Less expected is the mass of wood and glass that was four different doors. He curses and wrenches what's left of them open to catch the kid. 

Thor's shaking and sobbing, shivering in the cold and bleeding from dozens of rapidly-healing cuts. 

"Shit," Tony says, "Thor, buddy --"

"Heimdall!" the boy screams at the sky. "Why won't you answer me!" He turns on Tony. "What did you do!"

"I didn't do anything," Tony says, trying to stay calm, but it's hard to when he knows that Thor is both devastated and hurt, and also capable of snapping Tony's neck if he so felt like it. "Calm down, Thor, you just need your hammer --"

"I don't have a hammer!" he shrieks. "Why won't Heimdall answer me!"

"Um, uh --" Tony wracks his brain for the answer, trying to remember if he'd ever asked. "Something about the hammer. There's a lot of people in this city, millions, and I don't think he can focus on only one person when there's so many so close together. So --" 

"Loki will know," Thor says, quieting instantly. "Loki will know what to do." 

"What?" is all that comes out of Tony's mouth. 

"Loki," Thor says raggedly, insistent. He shakes his hair out of his face. "He's my little brother, but he knows everything. He's this tall," Thor gestures to his own shoulder, "and has, has green eyes and black hair." He turns a hopeful gaze, only a minute ago so wrathful and terrified, on Tony. "Have you seen my brother?" 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't even count as a chapter, really, more like proof that I'm alive and writing. The next one will have substance. Thank you for your patience and support. uvu

"You know where he is!" the kid says with a mix of hope and anger. 

"I don't," Tony says immediately, honestly. "But I have seen him. Not for long, mind you, but I did." At Thor's expression he adds, "when I talked to him he gave me this." He jabs at the jagged cut on his cheek. 

Thor nods. "He sometimes does that." A pause. "Is he in this building with us?"

"No," Tony says apologetically, thank fucking god he's not. "I don't know where he is. But we'll find him." 

"Do you swear?" Thor asks hopefully, tears dried. 

"I swear," Tony says darkly. "We'll find that little -- kid." 

There's a sudden gust of wind, not uncommon so high up but clearly Thor wasn't expecting it; he yelps and staggers backward, closer to the unprotected edge of the balcony. Tony lunges forward and grabs at the oversized tunic he wears, getting a handful and dragging the boy away from the edge. Tony keeps a tight hold as it dies down, putting himself between the wide-eyed kid and the wind. Neither of them speak until it passes.

"C'mon," Tony says eventually, tugging Thor to the door. "Back inside, before you hurt yourself."

"Wait." (Un)surprisingly, he makes no headway against a stubborn god of thunder, small as he is. Thor plants his feet and glowers, eyes flicking from Tony's hand around his forearm and the older man's face. "Tell me how I came to be here." 

The Avenger-turned-"babysitter" can't think of anything to say. He opens his mouth, shuts it, frowns. Thor doesn't take Tony's silence well.

"Have you taken me from Asgard?" he asks, teary eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

"No," answers Tony, with a wince. He flounders for some sort of explanation. "Uh, you actually just appeared in my house. Out of nowhere." 

"How do I know you speak the truth?"

"You don't," he replies, "but I'm just a hu -- a mortal. We all are. There's nothing I could do to take you away from your home. And I want you back as soon as possible." 

"But Heimdall --"

"Can't find you, because there's so many people."

"... oh." 

Tony's heart breaks a little at Thor's hopeless expression. 

"C'mon," he repeats, tugging gently. "Let's go get you cleaned up."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I'm sooo sorry for the wait! I have a myriad of excuses, of course, but the biggest thing in my life is this: I'm being kicked out. Well, more like I was told to leave for the thousandth time and now I finally am, before the damage between my mother and I can't be fixed. It's a long, unhappy process and I'll be fully moved into my fiancee's house by the first week of August. Hopefully then I'll be able to update far more frequently. Anyways, enjoy (I hope)!
> 
> PS In my headcanon, Tony was born in 1975, and nothing will ever change that. Shhhh, don't judge me.

Tony drags young Thor back inside and to the nearest bathroom with a first aid kit. It's obvious the cuts are already healing, but the second he gets a good look at them all Thor's eyes go wide and teary. Tony does the first thing he can think of to shut it down before the waterworks start: he offers bandaids. Pink ones, green ones, Avenger-themed ones, plain old "flesh"-colored ones, flowery ones, striped ones, Hello Kitty ones... Tony's got at least a dozen boxes of different sized, shaped, and patterned bandages. 

Thor loves them all, and demands one of every kind. It says something that he's got enough cuts and scrapes for it. Avengers (the Thor ones carefully hidden away) cover his arms, along with other extra colorful ones. His legs get the solid color and flowery bandaids. He reserves the single remaining cut on his face for a violently purple circular one, slapped right onto his nose. It'd be small on Tony, but it nearly covers Thor's entire nose, up to the bridge. It's adorable, and Tony manfully represses the urge to coo and maybe cuddle the kid. 

Then there's the matter of Tony's injuries. Apparently, on Asgard, wounds are taken very seriously. He allows Thor to attack his face with three alcohol wipes, cleaning the blood away (and Tony is nothing short of alarmed at how much of it there was). The cut on his cheek burns and it's a true struggle not to burst into violent swearing as the sting doesn't ease for a solid minute. It feels like the liquid from the alcohol pad was just squeezed into the wound and trapped with a Hello Kitty bandaid. Then Thor grabs one of his (high quality, pure white) hand towels, soaks it in sink water, and starts scrubbing the side of his head. That, possibly, hurts worse, but a glance in the mirror shows him that there's no bleeding, so he's not too concerned. And with the little blond smiling the way he is, Tony can't say no to the request to slap another bandaid onto his hair.

They return to what can only be described as chaos. Bruce is chasing Clint, a snarl fixed on his face as he grabs at the other boy's oversized tank top with clawed hands. Clint is shrieking with mixed terror and delight as he hops over fallen couch cushions and pillows. Clint nimbly scales the back of the couch and laughs when Bruce meets it headfirst. Natalia's perched atop the arm chair, arms crossed with a vicious scowl on her face. Steve is curled up in a corner, hiccuping into one leather sleeve. He looks up long enough to suck in a breath before resuming his quiet crying fit. 

Tony watches all of this with a growing sense of dread. Dread and exhaustion. 

"Jarvis," he says, still staring, "is it bed time yet?" 

"As a matter of fact, sir," Jarvis replies, "it is." 

Tony releases Thor's hand, so tightly grasping his own only a moment before, and rubs his face. "Great," he cheers halfheartedly. "How do I go about doing this?"

"Perhaps you should ask the children of their evening routines," his AI suggests, and Tony points at the ceiling in acknowledgement. What would he do without Jarvis? 

Only then does he notice the silence.

The kids are all staring at him, wide-eyed. Clint teeters on one foot until he has to take a bracing step to stay upright. Bruce's hands slowly sink to his sides, fingers relaxing. Natalia's glower has snapped up to focus on his face. Steve peeks out from behind his sleeve, tears glistening on his cheeks. 

"Who speaks?" Thor suddenly demands, looking around wildly. His hands come up, stretching the little bandaids on his fingers as he balls them into fists. "Show yourself!" 

"I'm afraid I can't show myself," Jarvis says apologetically. "However, I can introduce myself. My name is Jarvis." 

"Where are you, Jarvis?" Bruce asks, anger seemingly forgotten in the face of mystery. 

"I am everywhere, young sir," answers Jarvis. "I have no body like yours, but I do like to think I live in the Tower."

"Are you real?" Clint pipes up, staring at the ceiling. 

"As real as you or anyone else," Jarvis promises. "I am simply different." 

"I like to pretend Jarvis is my butler," Tony puts in, watching their expressions carefully. "But really he's one of my closest friends." 

"Is he a ghost?" Clint blurts out. Natalia stiffens. 

"I don't want to be in a place with a ghost," she says loudly, in English. Clint nods his agreement, then pauses and shakes his head. 

"I don't, neither," he declares. 

Steve sniffles. "I don't even know where I am!" he suddenly wails. It's surprisingly loud, considering how soft-spoken he's been. He looks distraught. 

Thor's brow furrows. "We are on earth."

"Where's earth!" Steve says shrilly, eyes huge and red-rimmed. 

"We all live on earth," Tony explains, wondering how a kid can't know about planets. Then again, they are four. 

"Earth," Bruce pipes in, apparently eager to share information, "is the planet we live on. Countries and cities are on the planet. So we live in a city, in a country, on planet earth." 

"So we live in three places?" asks Steve. 

"Yup." 

"I'm from Asgard," Thor proclaims, "and I don't know how I got to earth."

Clint scoffs. "Asgard's not real."

Tony blinks. How did a four year old come to hear about Norse mythology? 

"Is too!" Thor argues. "I live there!" 

"Do not," Clint retorts, crossing his arms. 

"I do!" 

"He does," Tony cuts in firmly. "I don't want to hear any more arguing over it, either."

Now Barton looks astonished. "Really?" he gasps. "D'you know Thor?" 

Thor screws up his face. "I am Thor."

"Are not," Clint accuses. "Yer jus' a kid!" 

"Okay!" Tony claps his hands. "Let's talk about this later. Tomorrow, or maybe never. Now is... now is bedtime. Or bathtime. Whichever." 

"I saw the bathroom," Natalia says suddenly. "It looks fake." 

"Fake?" Tony repeats, nonplussed. 

"Bathrooms don't look like that," she answers. "It's fake."

"It's not fake," Tony sighs, "it's --"

"Natalia said it's 1932," interrupts Steve, eyes filling with tears again. "But it's not, I know it's not, cos I have a caleddar by my bed an' it says 1922, I know it does --" 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck, Tony hadn't thought of this either. "Well, Natalia's wrong," he tries, "and, actually, so are you. It's, um --"

"It's 1974," Bruce argues. "Dad's got a caleddar too --"

"D'you happen to mean 'calendar'--?" 

"I think Bruce is right," says Clint, looking troubled, "cuz I was born in 19...1973--"

"Oh my god," Tony realizes, "you're older than me --"

"Nuh uh," Bruce argues, turning to Clint. "You said you're four, so it's 1977 for you --" 

"But why!" Steve shrieks, and they all go quiet. 

"Because," autopilot, autopilot, oh god stop, "it's 2013."

Tony winces as their stares all turn to him. 

"Is not," Clint says finally. 

"Is too," he can't help but snark back. 

"But why?" Steve repeats tearfully. His breaths are starting to sound more ragged. 

"Magic," Tony blurts. "Magic brought you all here."

"Magic isn't real," Natalia says disdainfully. 

"Magic is real," Clint says, perking up along with Thor. "I knew it!" 

"I don't like magic," whines Steve. "I wanna go home." 

"And I'm trying to get you home," Tony promises. "But it's going to take time. I'm not a magic expert, I'm a robot expert."

"Robots isn't real," Clint mutters, and Tony has to roll his eyes. 

"Seriously?" he demands. "Magic is real, but robots aren't?" 

"Uh huh," Clint says defiantly. "I'm in the future cuz magic. I don't see no robots."

"You'll see some tomorrow," Tony promises. Clint just shrugs, dubious, and ohhh, that rankles. 

Best not to get into an argument with a kid, he has to remind himself. 

"Loki's a magic expert," Thor says with considerable enthusiasm. "My brother is very skilled! He will help us, I am sure!"

Natalia wrinkles her nose. "Where's your brother?"

Thor shrugs, then points to Tony. "I've seen him not, but he --?"

"Uh," says Tony intelligently. He never introduced himself. "Sorry. I'm Tony." 

"Tony says he will find my brother!"

"Is your brother Loki?" Clint asks snidely. 

Thor grins. "Why yes, he is! And a skilled magic user is he!"

"Is he bluuuue?" 

"No? Why would Loki be --?"

"Nope!" Tony interrupts loudly. "Let's not. Go there. Ever." He takes a deep breath as they both fall silent, Thor confused, Clint smirking. "It's true that I'm looking for Loki, and I've seen him do magic. When we find him, he may be able to help us. But for now, we're not going to worry about that. I'm sure we're all tired, aren't we?" 

"I'm tired," says Steve, and he looks so damn pitiful Tony almost wants to cuddle him.

Natalia has no such compunctions. "I'm not tired at all," she says flatly. 

"Too bad," Tony says dismissively. "Shower time, and you can tell me what you do before bed." He claps twice. "C'mon, kiddies, up you get. Follow me." 

It takes a bit of clever wrangling, but eventually he gets all four boys in the tub. Natalia insists she can wash herself, which, thank god. Thor spends the entire time telling tales of his bath adventures in Asgard as Tony washes his hair. Clint does the same, though his stories of finding new and unique ways of getting clean with his older brother on the streets get more horrifying as he goes on; Tony scrubs him extra well. Steve is content to stand under the warm spray, eyes half lidded as he breathes in steam. Bruce's curls are a little harder to clean, which Clint teases him for until Tony tells him off ("Can it, bowl-cut."), at which point he falls silent and enjoys the water temperature with Steve. 

When Natalia totters back in, scarlet curls dripping on the floor as she trips over the towel, Tony turns off the shower for the boys and digs up some plain t-shirts for them to sleep in. 

"You'll get clothes that fit you tomorrow," he promises, setting Jarvis on discrete delivery of everything a kid could need -- healthy food included. As for himself, he's covered in soap and water, so he just changes his clothes and washes his hair with soap in the sink before declaring himself clean. 

As it turns out, none of them have any particular routine before bed, except for Thor and Steve, whose mothers tuck them in. Tony balks, but their puppy eyes are legendary. He leads them all to a room down the hall from his own, a storage room of sorts for furniture and bedding. Lucky for him, there are several mattresses as well. 

"Okay," he says after all the beds are set up. All the children dutifully pick a mattress and hop in. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. My room's the big door by the bathroom if you need me. Jarvis will help you if you have questions." He turns on his heel and marches to the door. "G'night. I'll see you in the morning."

"Wait!" Steve cries, and Tony turns to see him pointing at his forehead. "I need a kiss goodnight!"

"A what?" Tony says dumbly. 

"A kiss!" Steve insists. "To keep the nightmares away!" 

"And the bedbugs," Natalia adds. 

"Bedbugs?" Tony repeats. "There are no bedbugs in my Tower --"

"Just in case?" Steve pleads, doe eyes dialed to full strength. Tony caves instantly. 

"Fine," he whinges, dragging his feet back to their bedsides. "One kiss, then bed. Got it?"

"Uh huh!" Steve smiles brightly. He curls back up underthe covers and Tony drops a quick peck on his brow. 

"Go to bed," he says sternly, and turns again. 

Thor is looking up at him expectantly.

"Fine," Tony sighs, thoroughly put-upon, and kisses his forehead. "Good night." 

There's a small whining sound from Steve's other side. It's Bruce, looking up at him with sleep-blurred eyes. Tony heaves another sigh and kisses him on the nose. When he straightens, Clint and Natalia are watching.

"I suppose you suddenly have night time routines, too?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. 

Clint grins. "Don't wanna be left out," he says, and Natalia nods fervently. 

"Hold still," Tony instructs, and ducks to peck Clint on the cheek and Natalia on her curls. "Good night," he says sternly, and walks out the door, closing it quietly behind him. He leans against it with an exhausted sigh. 

"Jarvis," he groans. "I'm in way over my head."

"You are indeed, sir," his AI responds. 

"How long until this is over?"

"Your first day, according to Miss Potts' schedule, starts tomorrow at six a.m." 

"Tomorrow?" Tony repeats incredulously. "What about today? Doesn't all this count?" 

"I'm afraid not, sir. You've only been interacting with the children for two hours. I believe Miss Potts assumed they would be sent to bed shortly after your call ended." 

Tony shakes his head and lurches down the hall towards his room. "Great. Wake me up never." 

"Very good, sir. Sleep well."

"Hnnng." He flops on to the bed, spread-eagled, and falls asleep immediately. 

For a little while. 

"Tony?" A tiny voice says. Tony grumbles, still half-asleep, and turns his head just far enough to see a small figure silhouetted by the hallway light in his doorway. "I can't sleep," and he somehow recognizes the voice as Thor's. "I sleep with my brother, but I am alone, and so sleep won't come." 

Tony lifts a heavy hand and beckons. "C'mere," he mutters, too tired to scrounge up any fucks. Thor approaches. He indicates an empty spot on the massive bed. "Sleep here. G'night." 

He almost hears a small "thank you" as he falls right back asleep. 

Only to be woken again. 

It's Natalia this time. "I'm cold," she whispers, and he just waves a hand at the pillow Thor declined in favor of Tony's leg. He feels the bed dip as he drifts off again. 

Not twenty minutes later, Steve's knocking on the door frame. 

"What is it?" Tony asks, aggrieved. Steve's shoulders jump up to his ears. 

"Everyone was gone," he answers meekly. "I got lonely." 

Well then. "Plenty 'a space," Tony mumbles, finding he can't move his arm since Natasha's clinging to it. "Pick a spot and go to sleep, goddammit."

"Okay." He lifts the covers, letting out the warm air, and stretches out along Tony's thigh. The tired man doesn't even bother telling him that spot wasn't available. 

He's mostly expecting it when Bruce comes in. "I didn't have enough blanket," is his excuse, so Tony invites him in. He happily drapes himself over Tony's ankles, trapping him. Great. He's just going to stay awake until --

"Um."

"What?" You can forgive Tony for being a little snappish by this point. 

Clint's silhouette winces. "It's dark. I wanted a nightlight." He pauses. "It's kinda blue in here. You got one?"

"In my chest," Tony replies. 

"Can I see?"

"Why not?" Tony rolls his tired eyes and allows the boy to curl up against his ribswith his head close to the arc reactor. "Are we all good now?"

Murmurs of assent from them all. 

"Good. Now, I'm serious this time. Go to sleep."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a plot!

Tony wakes with a sneeze. 

If one has never woken themselves up with a sneeze, one would be hard pressed to understand exactly why and how it's so unpleasant. The pull behind the eyes is difficult to describe with words, though easier with frantic hand gestures. The painful full-body jerk is somewhat easier. 

The breath stolen by the sneeze is not. 

If one wanted to really know what it's like, there needs to be consideration for how the body functions during sleep. Most people have heard that the body conducts its most vigorous internal activity during sleep: muscle repair, tissue growth, and management of memory are a few.

But that's not all. Blood pressure drops. Muscles in the limbs tense up. Body temperature lowers. Breathing slows. 

Now sneeze. 

Needless to say, nobody in Tony's bed is happy. 

"Ew," a small body in front of his face complains. Tony's too wrapped up in trying to catch his breath while not breathing through the nose, because of course his flu couldn't let him off easy, to answer. 

He sneezes again.

"Are you sick?" another voice pipes up from his other side. Several tiny hands touch his shoulders, arms, back. He'd somehow turned onto his side in his sleep. 

"Rrgh," Tony replies, startled to find that his hands have been trapped under a surprising weight. He wiggles his fingers experimentally; someone squeals and the weight disappears. His hands immediately come up to rub at his eyes before opening them. 

The tiny face of one Clint Barton fills up his vision. A shock of red curls behind him suggests that Natalia's awake, as well. He can hear Steve snuffling somewhere to his right. 

Another hand comes out of nowhere and presses on his forehead, clammy and small. Bruce says, "I think he's got a fever." 

"A fever!" Steve echoes, alarmed. Tony startles at the sudden shuffling and shifting and opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by a long, loud yawn. When he's done, he finds a too-large t-shirt tickling his nose. 

"I'm fine," Tony finally manages, pushing gently at Steve's chest. The boy sits back on his heels and stares at him, eyes wide and worried. "No fever."

"But fevers are dangerous!" the blond exclaims, fisting his hands in his shirt. "People die!"

There's a chorus of gasps. 

"I'm not going to die," Tony says before anyone else can add to the drama. "I promise. I'm just getting over a cold, is all."

"So you're not going to die?" asks Natalia, leaning on his bare leg.

"I'm not going to die," Tony promises, wondering when this became his life. 

"Good," she says, and hops off the bed to march her way into the bathroom. They all watch her close the door before scrambling to follow her. Well, Steve stays, and Thor -- Tony checks -- is the softly snoring weight at his back. 

"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, and Tony smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. 

"Very sure," he answers firmly. "I had a doctor make sure and everything." He thinks of Bruce, the adult, waving an old-fashioned thermometer in Tony's face and grins. 

Steve looks a little less subdued now. "If you're sure," he says, and hops off the bed to join the others.

Thor snores. 

"Right," Tony says to himself, stretching. "Now what?"

"Now," Jarvis answers, "the children need breakfast."

Breakfast? Tony jumps, panicked. "Do I even have food?" he demands. He dives out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen. 

"You have large quantities of frozen waffles and fruit," Jarvis assures him. Tony nods, relaxing slowly. 

"How about drinks?" he asks. "Do I have anything besides water or coffee?"

"Orange and apple juice, sir, in large quantities." 

Tony blames that one on Natasha. 

"Well, that's good," he says instead. "Plenty of food for the kiddies."

"Indeed. Perhaps you should plug in the Super-toaster?" 

"Ah. Right." Tony opens a cupboard and drags out the largest toaster he's ever seen: a fourteen-slot monster called the Super-toaster because of Steve's toasting habits. And Thor's. The both of them eat a loaf of bread a day in toast. 

Each. 

Needless to say, Tony is ready for five children. 

**8**

Breakfast is a peaceful disaster. The kids all chatter happily at each other, slinging syrup and juice everywhere as they wave their forks and sticky fingers. Clint gets butter in his hair. Steve, astounded by the abundance of food, overeats and has to go lie down on the couch. Natalia's unused to sweets and has to join him. Bruce's manners are flawless. Thor wanders in as Natalia leaves and systematically devours six waffles and nineteen giant strawberries. He thanks Tony for the orange juice and follows Bruce to the sink to wash his hands. The kitchen is a wreck afterwards. 

Tony can't figure out how they did it. "Christ," he says when the last kid had wandered off to the couches. "Do I have to clean all this?"

"I'm afraid Captain Rogers usually does the kitchen cleanup," Jarvis says apologetically. Tony downs a fresh cup of coffee before ordering his AI to give him instructions as he goes. At least his symptoms have gone down -- they likely won't make another appearance until later this evening. 

**8**

It takes nearly an hour, but eventually Tony considers the kitchen cleaned up. Jarvis has been keeping an eye on the kids -- thankfully there haven't been any incidents like last night so far. He flicks a little collection of soap bubbles off his elbow and goes to find out what they've been doing.

Crayons. Crayons and markers and glue everywhere. The kids giggle as they slap sheets of colored paper on top of each other, and they're using Tony's (Pepper's) antique coffee table to do it. For a split second, the panic returns, but quickly fades in favor of childish glee at the sight of multicolored cutout stars tangled up in Thor's hair. 

"Jarvis," he says quietly, gleefully, "I hope you're getting this."

"Indeed, sir," is Jarvis' reply. "Every detail." 

Several boxes come in throughout the day, filled with fitted children's clothes and toys for all ages. Steve accepts whatever clothes he's given so long as he has first dibs on all the puzzles -- even the hard ones, he insists. Natalia selects her favourite dresses and three of Clint's dark shirts, silently daring anyone to argue. Thor takes the larger skirts, wearing them with a pride Tony sort of doesn't want to ask about. Bruce, somewhat surprisingly, doesn't need glasses, and when he quietly asks if he can have all the blue shirts his size (the same as Clint's) Tony can't say no. 

They eat ordered-in pizza and breadsticks on paper plates, so that when they're done Tony just tosses out the trash and cleans the table and chairs (and floor. He's too old to be crawling under the table like this). Steve is sick again, this time because of all the grease, and has to go lie down. The other kids are a little woozy as well, so Tony declares naptime for all of them, himself included. He's not really as surprised as he maybe should be when they all go straight to his room and leave a space big enough for himself on the bed.

"Is this how it's gonna be?" he complains, and is summarily ignored. With a grumble, he crawls onto the bed and flops down, asleep before his head hits the pillow. 

_"Stark."_

_Tony looks up from his blank tablet screen and sighs. Loki stands on the other side of the ruined coffee table, arms crossed with a lethal glare pointed in his direction. Tony sets the tablet aside._

_"To what do I owe this visit?" he inquires, leaning back into the couch._

_"You're an idiot," Loki seethes. He looks a little less put together than usual, hair frizzy at the ends and deep shadows under his eyes. Tony doesn't realize he's sagging sideways until he puts a steadying knee on the table. He doesn't seem to notice the glitter glue now permanently stuck to his leather-clad knee, but he will later. Tony wants to be there when it happens._

_He raises an eyebrow. "I take it I'm dreaming again?"_

_"That you are," says Loki furiously, "and your stupid subconscious keeps twisting my words." Tony blinks, and then the man is in his face, hands grabbing his shoulders and shaking them. "Listen to me!"_

_"Alright, alright, Jesus!" Tony pushes on the other man's chest, trying and failing to get some space between them. "I'm listening, you crazy asshole. What do you want?"_

_Loki releases him and leans down to look him in the eye. "Your Avengers are children."_

_Tony nods, exaggeratedly. "Yes, they are," he says rudely. "Thank you, Captain Ob--"_

_"Silence!" Loki looks ready to spit fire. Tony shuts up. "Your Avengers are children, and yet you remain an adult. Don't you consider that odd?"_

_Tony's mouth twists. "I dunno," he says with a larger hint of bitterness than he strictly wanted, "last time you said something about my not being an Avenger, so."_

_Loki sighs. "That was your subconscious rudely interrupting me," he says patiently. "How am I to communicate with you during your dreams if your insecurity twists my message before I can get it all out?"_

_Wow, uh. This is new. "So my issues are stronger than you," is what comes out of Tony's mouth. Loki's eyes narrow._

_"I'm contacting you through your dreams," he says, "and you're worried about your 'issues'."_

_Tony shrugs. "It happens. What did you want to tell me, then?"_

_Loki frowns. He doesn't look angry, now, just pensive. Worried. "It was not I," he says slowly, "who attacked yourself and your team."_

_Tony snorts. "As if. Jarvis recognized you and everything."_

_"I speak the truth," the god insists, and Tony feels inclined to believe him. "If it were me, you would be a child as well, in the care of SHIELD while I attacked elsewhere. You know this."_

_Tony does._

_"And yet here you are, with your body and mind untouched. SHIELD has been isolated. Your team are a bunch of unruly children. Have you not considered why?"_

_"Well," Tony starts, "I guess? Mostly I've been trying to track you down, to be honest, between nonstop babysitting."_

_"It is not me," Loki stresses. "It is an imposter, an adversary of mine who carries a lethal grudge. You must --"_

_The world flickers._

_"Must what?" Tony asks, dazed. He can feel himself waking up. "Loki?"_

_The god is gone._

_"Get yourself and the children out," Loki's voice hisses in his ear. "My imposter will return, and --"_

"Tony?"

He blinks, woken by Bruce asking for a pair of socks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your love gives me liiiiiiiiiife. So does your emotional pain. Thank you for being awesome!

So now Tony's got a lot to think about. Once he gets up to give Bruce his socks, everyone else slowly wakes as well. They've all only been out for an hour, so Tony suggests a movie. 

He doesn't pay attention in the slightest. 

As The Little Mermaid plays, with added commentary by Bruce and Clint as they explain to Natalia, Steve and Thor in hushed whispers what a mermaid is and why everything that happens is important, Tony thinks back to his bizarrely vivid dream, of which he's forgotten nothing. Loki had been acting strange, even by his standards -- the irritability is common, sure, but the jumpiness isn't. Nor was it normal for him to be so urgent over anything. Speaking from experience, Loki tends to be so casually smug you can't tell whether it's the truth or a lie until it's too late. He's certainly never grabbed anyone and shaken them. 

But does this tell Tony that it was just a dream, or is all the unusual behavior a sign that it was real? He can't tell, and once again he probably won't find out until it's too late. 

Still, he should heed the god's warning, right? Loki wouldn't know where Tony decides to take the kids. Unless he decides on obliterating the entire continent, they won't have to worry about being hunted down. 

Would Loki really obliterate an entire continent? Can he? 

Fuck. 

His mind stubbornly sticks to this train of thought for the rest of the movie, only letting up long enough to answer a question coherently and notice when Thor goes quiet around Ursula's deal with Ariel, eyes wide and too bright in the darkness. 

"Thor, buddy," he says when the credits roll and the other children are too involved in their rapid conversation to notice they're missing a person, "can we talk?" When the blond turns to look at him, he gestures to the door. "Real quick." 

Thor nods and follows him into the kitchen. Tony closes the door gently behind him, muttering a quiet order to keep an eye on the kids to Jarvis before turning to face the Asgardian. 

"Thor," he starts, but doesn't get any further; the boy cuts him off with a rushed, "have you found Loki?" 

"Ah," says Tony. "Not yet." 

Thor deflates. "I see," he mumbles, eyes regaining that alarming shiny quality. 

Tony bites back a sigh. He's got no idea what to do. "C'mere," he tries, kneeling to the boy's level. Thor makes what sounds like he's choking and throws his arms around the man's neck. 

"The purple woman was doing magic," he cries, crawling into his lap, "and it made me miss Loki a lot." The arms tighten, though not enough to hurt. "He can't do any of that magic yet, and I wanted to tell him about it but he's not here!" The last word is a wail that dissolves into loud hiccups and sobs. Tony lays a hand on his back, helpless and unsure in the face of Thor's devastation. He just keeps crying and crying and Tony hates not knowing what to do. 

Before he can decide on a plan of action, the tears stop on their own. His shirt is soaked and plastered to his skin, but he figures it's not okay to say anything about it. The kid's only four, after all, and if he's going to cry over missing his demonic brat of a brother then at least he's not doing it alone. Eventually, though, he stops cleaning his face off on Tony and uses his sleeve instead. Thor makes a pathetic picture, all long unruly hair and wet grey shirt and frilly pink skirt and red face dripping with tears and misery. 

Then Tony gets an idea. 

"Loki can do magic?" he inquires. "Do you know what kind?"

Thor brightens, watery smile forming. "I know all of it," he says proudly. "He likes to show me all the things he learns from mother." 

"Like what?" Tony encourages, and he knows he said the right thing when the kid settles in his lap and starts to talk. 

"-- and he set father's cape afire one time, he was furious --"

"-- once he turned into a bird --"

"-- and when I woke up, he told me everything that happened in my dream because he was there --"

That gets Tony's attention. "Wait, Thor. Your brother can see your dreams?"

"Noooooo," is the reply, the word long and drawn out with a vaguely condescending headshake. "He can walk in my dreams. I know it's real when he tells me what I dreamt about."

"Have you ever dreamt about a not-real Loki in your dreams?" Tony asks clumsily, practically tripping over himself in his sudden need for an answer. 

"Often," Thor answers. "I know when he's real because he never gets to finish what he's saying when I wake up." 

And just like that, the reality of the situation comes crashing down onto Tony's head. "Okay," he declares, "snack time."

Thor makes an inquiring sound even as he scrambles to his feet. "Not dinner?"

"Dinner it is!" He knows, despite this being only his first official day with the children, that they want nothing more than to sleep after eating a meal. Maybe he'll get some time to sit down and think, provided they don't pin him to the mattress like they've done the last two times. "Go get the kids, I'll find something for us to eat."

The meal this evening is simple. Tony manages to cut up several fruits without killing himself, or even making himself bleed for once. He throws corn dogs in the oven and dumps the canteloupe, pineapple, kiwi, apple, grapes, and orange slices into separate bowls for the kids to grab as they like. He has to keep checking the list on the fridge to make sure he's not including  anyone's allergies, seeing as Jarvis brought in a bunch of kid-friendly food they've never had before, but as always, only Bruce's allergy to bananas and Clint's to gooseberries is written there. No bananas, no gooseberries, he's good. He even asked Steve before to see if he had any pre-serum problems, and the only allergy is to latex. 

They all choose chocolate milk for their drink, even Tony, and they drink it out of the fanciest wine glasses he could find. They love it. He serves them their corn dogs with ketchup and mustard on the side of their plates and invites them to fill the rest of it with whatever fruit they want. Tony himself chooses pineapples and oranges while Clint picks out all the big pieces of canteloupe, Thor gets some of everything, Steve grabs a handful of apples and oranges, Bruce gets everything but pineapple, and Natalia forks two pieces of kiwi onto her plate. 

"What is it?" she asks curiously, eyes wide as she prods it with her finger. 

"It's kiwi," Tony answers, amused. "You've never tried it before?" 

She simply shakes her head and takes a bite. "'S pokey," she says around her mouthful. "I like it."

"Pokey?" Clint wonders. 

"It tingles," she says in Russian. Of course, only Tony understands, so everyone else looks at him. 

"It's the citric acid in the kiwi," he explains. "Oranges and pineapples have a lot of it. That's what makes it prickle on your tongue." 

She makes a considering noise and swallows the rest of the slice. "Just my tongue?" she asks. 

Bruce gives her a strange look. "'Sposed to be." 

"And my lips?"

Bruce looks at Tony. "No?"

That's when Tony really starts paying attention. "How much is it prickling?" 

"It was a lot," she says, a weird look on her face, "but not really now." 

"Jarvis," Tony says with a sense of foreboding. "Jarvis, is this normal?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

Tony gets out of his chair and snatches her plate away from her before she can eat the other kiwi slice. "Are there any records stating that the Widow is allergic to kiwi?" he demands, getting down on his knees to talk to her. Her face is slowly turning red, and unless he's being paranoid, her lips are starting to swell. "Natalia, are you still feeling the prickles?" She doesn't answer at first, so he shakes her gently by the shoulder. To their right, Steve sniffles like he's going to cry when Jarvis answers in the negative. "Natalia?"

She turns to face him and stares with eyes wide with fear. "I don't -- I can't breathe," she chokes, and slides off her chair into his lap. 

Clint screams. 


	13. HOLY GOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, BEFORE WE GET STARTED. No notes pertaining to the actual chapter today, because ahahaha I have like ten minutes before work. 
> 
> FIRST OFF. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BEAUTIFUL WORK OF MAGIC AND ART??? http://www.vylla-art.com/post/115779684750/commission-of-a-scene-in-this-fic IF I HAD THE TIME I SWEAR TO GOD I WOULD SCREAM AND FLAIL AND MAYBE CRY A LITTLE BC???? WOWOWOWOW OH MY GOD. This artist is sooooooooo talented and I'm SO TOUCHED??? THANK YOU!!!!! And WHO COMMISSIONED THIS? I NEED TO KNOW SO I CAN LOVE YOU FOR BASICALLY ALL ETERNITY. P L E A S E. I owe you something major and probably fic related as thanks, since that's more or less all I have to offer. 
> 
> Seriously, though, it's beautiful. I actually did cry the first time I saw it. _Thank you._
> 
> Secondly, SURPRISE I MOVED. And a result of this move is that I had no internet for a very VERY LONG TIME. Not since August, no, but I did admittedly take a very distracting dip into Teen Wolf, which caused my neglect of this fic. I'm so relieved you beautiful people are still sticking with me. I appreciate it so much! LET ME LOVE ALL OF YOU. 
> 
> Lastly, there were some very inspiring comments on the previous chapter. I know I left you all on a cliffie and I'm soooo sorry -- I myself hate cliffhangers with a fiery passion, so clearly I'm pure evil and also a hypocrite. Anyways I laughed like a loon when I read some of them, and got all touched with others. I love you guys SO SO MUCH and I really hope you lovelies stick around just a little bit longer! Stay awesome, everyone. <3

“There was nothing you could do, sir.”

One of the kids clings to Tony’s pant leg, nose mashed into his knee and choking down a sob. The others crowd close, curled up around him on the bench. The window before them looks in on the the occupied hospital room: cream walls, white tile flooring, and monitors surrounding the small hospital bed.

Clint reaches out and touches the glass. “Will she be okay?” he asks in a small voice. Tony heaves a sigh and ruffles the boy’s hair.

“Of course she will,” he promises, watching grimly as the doctors clear the room. “She’ll be right as rain in just a few days.”

It hurts to witness this: physically, emotionally, and mentally. He’s known Natasha for three years now, and not once has she looked this vulnerable. Even her four year-old self, for all her confusion and purple crayons, hasn’t given the impression of fragility as strongly she does now. The other kids, for all their innocence and naivety, can tell the difference as well. It’s unsettling to an adult -- to a kid it must be borderline traumatic. And despite these kids having only been around for a day, they’ve formed a bond tighter than Tony thinks their adult counterparts are even capable of. He brings them all a little closer, spirits lifting a little as they all cuddle up.

At some point, Jarvis speaks again. “Sir, it’s past seven.”

“At night?”

“In the morning, sir.”

Irresponsible caretaking. Pepper is going to have his head. Right on cue, Bruce yawns loudly from his place lodged into Tony’s side.  “Hell,” he sighs, nudging all the children gently. They break apart in a mess of jaw-cracking yawns and bleary puppy eyes and I want to stay with Natalia’s. Somehow he manages to herd them all out the door, into the elevator, and upstairs to the living floors anyways. The sun shines bright through the wall-to-wall glass windows and all four of them flinch and whine at the same time. Tony sighs, gesturing to Jarvis to black out the windows, and shoves them gently into the kitchen.

After a glass of orange juice and some fruit (everyone avoids the kiwis), Tony gets them all to clean their teeth and change into pajamas before inviting them all into his bed; somehow he knows they won’t sleep alone. Thor holds up the covers while they all get comfortable, four small bodies somehow moving him to the middle of the bed, and Jarvis turns the lights off so they can try to get some sleep.

**8**

“It has barely been twenty-four hours,” Pepper says coldly, “and you’ve already managed to get one of them nearly killed.”

Tony groans into his coffee, four hours after crawling into bed with the kids and trying to sleep. They’re all conked out in the warm spot he left, snuggled close -- adorable little pillow thieves. “Wasn’t my fault,” he mumbles with a heavy dose of petulance. “SHIELD has apparently never fed Natalia kiwis. How does a woman go a hundred years without ever seeing a kiwi? Has she never been to Hawaii?”

“The kiwifruit originated in China,” Pepper snits, “so I don’t want to hear it.”

“A _top SHIELD agent has never been to China_?”

“Tony!” She talks right over him, and his mouth snaps shut. On the screen, she looks tired. “Is she okay?”

Tony swirls the cooling coffee with the stupid little stick his machine drops into his cup every time it pours him a cup. “She’s gonna be fine,” he answers unhappily. “The serum in her blood  had kickstarted the release of histamine and all the other fun stuff that causes the swelling, which really just made the whole thing worse. If she were human all she would have needed is a couple kids’ Benadryl and some rest.”

“How bad did it get?” Pepper asks, and there’s something softer in her tone than before. Tony shakes his head.

“She was going into shock before Jarvis reminded me that we have an entire fucking floor dedicated to medical emergencies,” he spits, shoving his mug away. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be awake for this conversation at all. “Can we get to the part where you put the kids somewhere safe already? I want to go back to bed.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I’m not moving the kids, Tony,” she says finally. His head shoots up.

“You’re not?” he asks, flabbergasted. “You’re not.”

“I’m not,” she agrees with a sad twist to her smile. “Overall you’ve done a good job with them. No parent would have been prepared for what happened last night.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hardly daring to be so hopeful. He’s being ridiculous, of course, but the kids are cute, and it feels good to be doing something really good for them in a way that building something in the lab doesn’t -- well. It’s a different sort of elation.

“Yeah.” Her smile widens. “You’re still on parental probation of course --”

“Parental probation --”

“Yes, Tony, until the end of our agreed time period, at which point we’ll see if you’ve kept this up. Okay?”

“Kept this up,” he scoffs, horribly relieved, “as if. I’m a great babysitter. They love me.”

“Are you feeding them sugar?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why.”

“Rude.”

“Mhm. Dump that coffee and go back to your cuddle pile, Tony. It’s eleven in the morning.”

Tony makes agreeing noises and scoots his chair back, but something occurs to him and he pauses. “Cuddle pile, Miss Potts?”

She sniffs. “Jarvis took pictures. It’s cute.”

“We’re _Avengers_ \--”

“Five out of the six of you are small children, _Tony_. It’s cute.”

**8**

 The boys wake up an hour later, cranky, overtired, and begging for food. Tony obliges them; a little overeager in the sense that he makes enough food for five child Thors instead of one child Thor, three human boys and one underfed adult. They finish a half hour later and use their new energy to wreak havoc across the floor. Toys and papers go flying and Tony's really not sure how that yellow glitter pen ended up in a shoe he was wearing. Needless to say, it's exhausting.

"Okay," he huffs two hours after they woke up, leaning back into the (destroyed) sofa by the entertainment center. "Who wants to visit Natalia today?"

"I do," Bruce replies immediately. Clint perks up as well. Steve sort of shrinks in on himself, paling, but nods anyways. Tony can tell something is wrong there. 

"Steve?" he questions warily. The small blond looks up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Momma says I can't go to work because I could catch what one of the patients has," he says uncomfortably. "I don' wanna be sick like Natalia."

"Me neither," tiny Clint agrees, visually alarmed. 

Thor looks around at everyone, brow creasing. "But what kind of sick is that?" 

Oh, hell. Tony shakes his head and ushers the children towards the couch. They perch on cushions while he sits there and tries to explain anaphylaxis to a bunch of kids. 

“So’m not gonna get Natalia’s sick?” Steve clarifies, still a little suspicious but willing to believe it.

“Nope,” Tony assures him. “It’s just her. It’s just like if you get a rash when you touch latex, only inside.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. Thor, who has likely never had an allergic reaction to anything in his life, simply doesn’t get it. But he masks it well, grinning widely and deciding for everyone that they should bring her presents.

“Pillows,” Clint suggests, waving the blue one from the armchair around. “Her room is boring and white, and pillows are soft.”

“She already has pillows,” Tony feels the need to point out. The staff will have his head if he brings those germ-ridden, fluff-filled monstrosities into the sick room. Which, now that he thinks about it, only makes the idea more tempting. “But that’s a great idea! Why don’t we all go around and look for different-colored pillows? Clint here has blue. I’ll get a red one from the bed.”

“I’mma get a purple one,” announces Steve. He smiles, sufficiently cheered up and allergy concerns forgotten. “I know where to find it!”

“I wanna get a purple one,” Bruce whines, staring with wide-eyed betrayal at Steve. He turns to Tony. “I wanna get a purple one, Tony!”

Before he can intervene, mind scrambling for something politically correct and children safe to say, Thor cuts in. “Two violet pillows for the lady!” he cheers. “And so two of everything!”

Clint giggles, dropping his blue pillow on Tony’s lap. “Two of everything!”

Crisis averted, apparently. “I’ll just -- sit here…” he trails off as the boys scramble to their feet as one and dart off to different parts of the floor to collect as many pillows as humanly possible.

The five of them end up carrying down nineteen colorful pillows to Natalia’s room. The doctors disapprove, but Natalia smiles widely when she sees them all struggle to fit through the doorway.

“Are those pillows?” she asks, surprised and pleased. Bruce nods vigorously.

“We brought the rainbow cuz your room is boring,” Clint says loudly, shoving them all at her face. She oooohs. The boys all set to propping her up: purple at her feet, blue and green behind her knees, and yellow to red at her back. By the end of it, they’re all tired, but Natalia is happy, so they’re happy too.

“Thank you,” she says softly. Thor pats her blanket.

“Feel better!” he orders. “I miss playing with you.”

“Me too,” Clint admits; Bruce and Steve both echo their agreement. She looks up at Tony, who nods.

“No more kiwi, I think,” he decides. “How about popcorn?”

All five of them cheer loudly, so much so that the doctors come in to politely yet aggressively kick them all out.

**8**

“Mhm, everything’s just fine on our end,” Tony says in a monotone. The boys are watching Treasure Planet and sword fighting with paper towel rolls. It’s very exciting. Tony watches from the doorway and holds his phone about three feet away from his face to hear Fury clearly. “How about you? Still grounded?”

“Shut it, Stark,” Fury grumbles, aggrieved. Tony smirks. “Your suits aren’t doing jack to help us. It’s been two days. My agents have stopped scraping at the walls and started playing cards. We’re on _rations_ , for god’s sake. Get a move on.”

“SHIELD isn’t a prison, Fury,” Tony points out gleefully. “You can’t dig your way out with a spoon. Major design flaw, really. Next time think about it.”

“If your suits --”

“My suits are doing their best,” Tony cuts in. “Jarvis is still heading the dig. But we have to be subtle, you know? If I had ten suits out there circling SHIELD’s HQ everyone would know you’re vulnerable, so maybe shut up and let us be careful, yeah?”

“If you’d just go at it we’d be out before anyone would realize --”

Something decidedly not kid-sized moves in his peripheral vision. The air changes subtly, in the way he’s starting to learn means magic. It happens every time Thor intends to use his hammer, and it happened in his penthouse when aliens were trying to destroy New York. “Uh huh, yeah, I’ll think about it. Get back to me when you’ve gathered some bigger spoons, ‘kay?”

“ _STARK_ \--”

“Yep, loveyoubye.” Tony hangs up unceremoniously and whirls around, one eye on the kids and the other on the figure leaning on the wall, just out of their line of sight. He sighs. “Loki.”

The god uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer. There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and his smirk turns deadly in the span of a heartbeat. “Stark.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS WE LOVE YOU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BISCUIT: http://i.imgur.com/BublKLG.jpg

All things considered, Loki looks alright. Physically, at least. There’s something around his eyes, however: a tightness that speaks of stress or something else. Tony would say he looks harried, if he were in the habit of analyzing psychotic gods fresh from Viking jail. Speaking of, “Aren’t you supposed to be in the special prison?” Tony asks, maybe a little bit snide. “Y’know, solitary? In a box with only the voices in your head to keep you company?”

Loki’s smile turns saccharine. “We escaped, just for you,” he responds. “I don’t suppose you received my message this time?” 

“Your message,” Tony says slowly, pursing his lips and looking off to the side as if in deep thought. Of course he remembers the dream. It’s the only thing Loki could possibly be referring to. Still, he needs a second and it’s a little bit fun to watch that smile strain around the edges. “Yeah, your _kid brother_ told me about your little dreamwalking trick. Pretty neat.”

“It is no trick,” says the god. His smile devolves into a scowl. “Walking through dreams takes skill, Stark, and attempting to maneuver around your _massive insecurities_ was trying, to say the least.”

Tony shrugs, refusing to be bothered by it. “If you say so,” he says neutrally. He gestures with one hand to the kitchen area, angling his head in the direction of the kids. “Want that drink now?”

“I most certainly deserve it,” Loki mutters, following without complaint. 

Tony pulls up a video feed of the kids in the other room while he tosses a couple things into a cup for his guest. Loki keeps a careful eye on him as he does this, clearly curious.

“What is this?” 

“Rum and coke. Light on the coke.” Tony shrugs, lifting his own glass to his lips. Loki considers the cup before him, evidently coming to a positive conclusion because he takes a sip. His face twitches as it goes down. 

“Interesting,” the god says finally. Tony hides his smirk behind the tea he fixed for himself. No alcohol, he figures. Not around the kiddies. 

“So,” he says once both their glasses are empty, “what brings you here?”

Loki merely looks at him, one eyebrow raised. Tony finds himself quickly running out of patience.

“Look,” he tries, “we sat, we drank, we pretended to get along, and now we’re done. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got kids to keep an eye on -- no thanks to you, apparently.”

Loki scowls. “You weren’t supposed to be involved, Stark.” 

Tony jabs a finger at the holo-screen. “I’m sure as hell involved now,” he points out. “As if fake-you’s casual hike all over my pride wasn’t enough.” 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He snorts. “What was?”

“Your death, mostly likely,” Loki replies evenly. “Luckily for you, my adversary is not so well versed in the arts as I.”

“The arts,” Tony repeats. “Magic.”

“Correct,” is the reply. Loki leans back in his seat, looking awfully close to crossing his arms again. “I thought I’d warned you about it.”

“About what?” Tony studies the screen at his arm: the kids have no idea who’s in the other room with him. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. Common sense says yes, but some other part of him, while significantly smaller, says that he would pay big money to watch Loki try to handle small children safely. Not to mention how Thor would deal. 

“About _leaving_.” The god’s voice dissolves into a hiss of displeasure. “You _idiot_.”

Tony points an accusing finger at him, unnerved. “Uncalled for,” he directs. “We had a medical emergency. Natalia needs her rest.”

_Not that I would’ve left New York with the team because of a dream._

“ _Oh_ ,” and it’s disturbing how quickly the god’s moods shift, isn’t it? “The little Widow is injured? Poor _child_. There are hospitals everywhere,” he snaps suddenly. “Leave her somewhere and run.” 

“Ha!” Tony can’t help the explosion of sound, eyebrows hitting his hairline. “No.” 

Loki sighs, aggrieved. “Don’t tell me this is the result of some sort of _loyalty_ to the Avengers. I would’ve gotten the message across much sooner if _so many_ of your insecurities weren’t _related to them_.”

Tony scoffs, stung. “Why the hell do you care, anyways?” He attempts to divert the attention away from himself, not liking the direction this conversation is starting to take. 

Loki sniffs. “Not that it’s any of your _business_ , but I don’t take kindly to cheap parodies of myself, _gallivanting around with my face_ , conducting affairs as though we are the same person.” He takes a deep breath through his nose. “It’s _rude_.”

“I can understand that,” Tony concedes. “Lotta people running around the world with my goatee, nicknaming themselves Tony. It gets old.”

“It’s enough to drive a man to homicide,” Loki continues. 

“Maybe not that far. A little cyber warfare, getting someone to crack a few of the guy’s windows? Eh. But murder?” Tony makes a face. “Not quite.”

“When your impersonators start making enemies of your colleagues and confidants, we’ll talk.”

Tony slaps his hand on the bar. “Absolutely,” he agrees. “But for now, get out.”

“I will return,” the god warns, sliding his empty glass Tony’s way. 

“Yeah, sure. When the kiddies have gone down for a nap?”

“Done,” he says firmly, and disappears. Tony leans over and plants his forehead onto the bar. 

“God,” he tells Jarvis, “that was awful.” 

**8**

The kids don’t suspect a thing. Tony pops back into the doorway to check in again, only to find that their play has wound down completely even though it’s barely been ten minutes since Loki visited. Fury’s probably melted his phone with the sheer anger of his one-eyed glare, a small scene that plays out in Tony’s head that he can be proud of. He’ll need another one when SHIELD digs itself out of its hole, and Tony will be happy to present him with a shiny new Starkphone; the look on the director’s face will make his _week_. 

It’s only six when the movie’s over, but the sun’s starting to go down on the other side of the blacked-out windows and the kids are sluggish at best. At the beginning of the film, Thor and Steve had been going at it with cardboard rolls for swords and Bruce and Clint had been cheering loudly for both sides. By the time Fury called it had started to wind down and when Loki left, they might as well have been part of the couch for all that they were moving. 

“Okay,” he calls with a clap -- all four of them startle, blinking glazed eyes widely and peering around to see what’s going on. “Snack and then bed, boys. We’re all tired.”

“ ‘Sonly six,” Clint points out, rubbing at one eye with a fist. “The clock says.”

“Oh, you know your numbers, do you?” Tony raises an eyebrow, caught. “You’re tired, it says nine. C’mon’ up and at ‘em. To the kitchen. I’ll even let you ditch the plates.”

Thor, the main problem child in this respect, perks up considerably and even makes a hearty attempt at a dash to the kitchen. Bruce whines quietly but follows. Clint obliges willingly enough, but Steve is obviously done for, so Tony has to pick him up and let the boy rest his tiny blond head on his shoulder. Jarvis turns the lights off behind them. 

“Allllrighty,” he hums, pleasantly surprised at how adjusted he’s becoming to the small children underfoot. They allow the fridge door to open before clinging to his legs, bravely sticking their faces into the biting artificial chill. There’s nothing immediately snack-related that catches his eye, unfortunately. Something tells him they wouldn’t appreciate avocado. Instead, he pulls open one of the drawers and digs through until he finds the strawberries and peaches. “Fruit salad? I think yes. Take a seat, kids, Tony needs to chop enough delicious natural sugar to keep you awake for a shower.”

Tired as they are, they seem willing to oblige him, so he slices the fruit into a big bowl and places it on the counter. They blink blearily at the bowl, swaying in their seats long enough to start to worry him before Bruce works up the gumption to stick his hand into the bowl. 

In fact, he’s halfway through chewing the little strawberry chunk when he seems to come to himself with an expression of horrified outrage. “Fruit,” he gasps. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Fruit,” he agrees. “Yummy strawberries and peaches, all chopped up and fingerless just for you.” 

“ _Fruit_ ,” the boy repeats, and Tony doesn’t really get that anything’s wrong until Clint bursts into tears. 

It’s like a chain reaction, a single mine exploding in a field of them. At the first loud wail out of Clint’s mouth, Bruce clamps his lips shut even as tears leak out of his eyes. He’s starting to turn just a little bit green, and it sets Steve off as well. Soon Tony finds himself staring unabashedly at three sobbing children, out of nowhere. 

“W-what’s wrong?” he demands, flabbergasted. He looks wildly between them, confusion and alarm growing by the second. “Jarvis? Jarvis, _what’s going on_?”

“The boys are tired, sir,” Jarvis replies. “And their last encounter with fruit of any sort--”  
That’s when the last child, Thor, throws the bowl across the room. For a split second the whole room is silent, watching in mute shock as the bowl sails through the air and shatters against the far wall. During that split second, Tony thinks it might be over.

Then, Clint chokes, “ _N’talia_ ,” and sprints from the room. Tony’s so surprised he just stares after him, overwhelmed and entirely unequipped to handle this situation. 

“Uh,” he says, and springs into action. He goes to Thor first -- Thor, four years old with an expression of murder on his face even as he starts to sob -- wraps him in a hug and holds tight. Bruce is still blooming chartreuse but reaches out to cling anyways. Steve is not long in following, wrapping one arm around his calf and crying into his knee. “Hey, no.” He tries for soothing and maybe misses by a mile but they don’t seem to care. “It’s alright. Shh. Jarvis, make sure we don’t lose Barton… Uh, shhh, don’t be upset.” Tony has no clue what he’s doing, what with the fact that he can’t remember ever really being reassured as a child himself. “Come on, let’s go sit down, Jarvis, _what do I do_?” It occurs to him that he himself is becoming a bit frantic, but he can set that aside for the moment to focus on making sure he doesn’t irreversibly damage his teammates (friends? fellow Avengers? No, bad Tony, think about it later). Bruce and Thor are winding down, slowly but surely, allowing him to take a well-deserved breather to think about what to do with Clint. 

“Jarvis,” he breathes as he rubs their backs, one eye on Bruce’s bare arm as the green fades. Steve is breathing raggedly, but not unlike the other boys in the room, so he chooses to set that aside to panic over at a later date. He’s almost afraid to move, for fear of more tearful hysterics. Over fruit, of all things! If they’re going to be worried about fruit, they should be thinking about kiwis, not peaches. But then, he has to remind himself, they’re barely preschool age. They barely know what fruits are, much less all the different sorts, and then one of their friends had to almost die in front of them from eating one. 

Jarvis discretely assures Tony that Clint hasn’t fucked off to the med bay in the meantime. As it turns out, Jarvis had disabled the elevator and locked all the doors leading out of the living room, where the kid had ended up. In retaliation, the archer in minature had wedged his tiny ass under the sofa and continued to cry loudly. He’s still going at it, if his AI’s quiet exasperation is anything to go by.

“C’mon, kids,” he tries after a long moment of silence, broken only by sniffles and the rustle of clothing as the boys gradually calm down. “You’re tired. Let’s just pick up Clint, wipe off our faces, and go to bed, okay?”

“Dun wanna wipe m’face off,” Steve slurs into his knee. Tony juggles the boys so he can tap on the smallest blond’s shoulder. 

“Gotta get all the salt and boogers off your face, don’t we?” He makes an exaggerated expression of disgust and Steve’s mouth ticks up reluctantly. “Let’s go. We all need some rest.”

Snack abandoned, Tony coaxes them into following him like obedient little ducklings, yawning and sniffing and scrubbing at their cheeks. Jarvis silently unlocks all the doors as they trail after him into the living room, where he digs Clint out, scoops him up into a hug, and carries him into the master bathroom. 

“Wan’ ‘Talia,” he hiccups, too exhausted for more tears. Tony hums sympathetically, aching a little inside. 

“I know,” he says solemnly, wringing a wet rag out into the sink and dabbing at their faces, one by one. They obey quietly as he dries them off and directs them into sleep clothes. “We’ll visit her tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. Okay?”

“Wanna see her now,” Bruce says morosely, lifting his arms so Tony can tug his tear-stained shirt off and pull the fresh one over his head. 

“She’s sleeping now,” Tony reminds them. “Same as you should be. Bedtime, kids, you know where to go.”

“Wanna see her,” Bruce restates, crawling into bed nonetheless. Once again, the four boys leave a space for Tony to sleep in once he’s changed into sleep pants. 

“Me too,” Steve says miserably. Thor mumbles agreement. Clint rubs at his eyes in a suspicious manner.

“Okay, okay,” Tony concedes hastily, settling between them and resigning himself to playing body pillow. “But just for a few minutes, then sleep. Fair?”

“Fair,” they chorus in varying shades of mutiny. At his direction, Jarvis pulls up the security feed on the main screen across from the bed, Natalia’s snoozing form flickering to life on the screen. She looks content, if still a little too pale. Not a single part of her is touching the bed beneath the multicolored pillows they’d brought down for her. 

“See? She’s right there, and she’s sleeping right now,” Tony sighs, resting his head on his pillow and closing his eyes. “Just like you four should be. Alright?”

“No more fruit,” says Thor. The others giggle nervously at Tony’s exasperated sound. 

“That’s not gonna fly, bud,” he disagrees. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“G’night, Tony,” Clint whispers. The others follow suit, wishing each other a good night’s sleep and fading into silence.  
Tony’s exhausted, but doubt is keeping him awake. The second half of the day went horribly. First Loki, then the fruit, and now he’s feeling himself fray around the edges. Pepper was right, he decides. He is in no way cut out for parenthood. One meltdown and he’s about to fall apart along with them. How did he think he could _do_ this? 

If he dwells on it any longer, he decides, he’ll break down into tears himself. Turning over gingerly, he muffles his groan into the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut. Things had better pick up tomorrow, because he’s not sure he can make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: I almost had Loki drink a margarita, just so I could have Tony make a comment about needed to lick the entire salt rim before he could handle Loki's shit.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: THE STORY WILL GO ON. We ARE finishing this fic. Now that both Biscuit and I have moved in to new places and settled down some, hopefully I can start working around my recently stabilized work schedule and actually get work done. We love you!!!! 
> 
> BISCUIT: Hey y'all, be prepared for personal stories next time!

The next day dawns bright and early. Despite the hour and the tiny besocked foot shoved into his cheek, Tony finds himself in considerably better spirits than the night before. It hadn’t taken him much longer than the boys to conk out for the night; a full thirteen hours later, he almost can’t believe how refreshed he feels. 

Breakfast is a quiet affair, the boys so eager to visit Natalia that they don’t bother with talking while stuffing their faces with celery (the morning’s anti-fruit compromise) and oatmeal. They even help with cleanup, sort of. Mostly they stack messy dishes on top of messier dishes and carrythem over to the sole clean counterspace, but Tony high-fives them anyways. Jarvis plays a quick word game with them while Tony finishes cleaning the kitchen. 

The kids become more excited in the elevator on the way to the med bay, but their mood dims a bit when Steve speaks up for the first time this morning.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pouting down at Tony’s feet. His words cut through the joke Clint was trying to tell (“Hey Thor, what’s a -- where did -- why’d the chicken? Yeah. Why’d the chicken go ‘cross the road?”) and draw his attention. Bruce, who’d been chattering about space travel, falls silent and grabs at Tony’s hand. 

“What are you sorry for?” Tony asks, caught off guard. They’re all wearing somber expressions now, either staring soulfully up at him or down at his sock feet. It’s deeply disconcerting and suspiciously coordinated. Considering he hasn’t left them alone since the fruit debacle of the night before, he can’t figure out when they might have arranged this apparent group apology.

“Last night,” Thor explains. He’s even scuffing at the elevator floor tiles with his feet. “I broke your bowl and made a mess.”

“I ran away,” Clint volunteers guiltily, “an’ tried to hide. Barney always says hiding’s a bad thing when you’re not in trouble, b’cause then he can’t find me.”

“I always cry,” says Steve, miserably. Bruce sniffs but doesn’t speak until Clint nudges him.

“Turned green again,” he mumbles, shamefaced. “You’re not mad, are you Tony?”

Tony’s heart melts. “Of course not,” he promises swiftly, bending down low enough that Thor and Steve can wrap their tiny arms around his neck in an effective chokehold. Grunting, he hoists the two of them -- the heaviest and lightest of the group -- up to hip level, where they settle without complaint. Clint and Bruce peaceably take hold of a belt loop each instead. “I’m not mad at all. I understand that you were upset about Natalia being sick. Everyone has a mental breakdown once in awhile. Even adults.”

Thor’s eyes go wide. “Adults throw bowls too?”

Tony snorts. “You’re usually not supposed to,” he advises, “but sure. Plenty of adults throw things and stop eating certain foods and even have a good cry.”

“Adults don’ cry,” Clint says with a hint of scorn. 

“They do too,” Tony retorts. “I’m an adult. I would know.”

A scowl appears on his small face. Apparently he’d never considered that Tony could be an adult. “When did  _ you  _ cry before?”

He should’ve expected that question. “Hey, look, we made it to Natalia’s floor,” he says hastily, gesturing with Steve’s entire body at the elevator door. “That sure took a bit, didn’t it, Jarvis?” he mutters under his breath as all four boys perk up and stare expectantly at the door, question forgotten. Jarvis makes a low humming noise in response. 

As it turns out, Natalia’s feeling good as new this morning. “I’m not sick anymore,” she says earnestly from atop her mountain of colorful pillows. Jarvis had recorded her epic sulk when the doctors had tried to remove them, guilting them and scaring them away simultaneously. It’s still a beautiful sight to behold. 

The doctors confirm her words, promising to release her as soon as the papers are filed. Thankfully, the paperwork very quickly becomes a nonissue under Tony’s unimpressed stare and they have her bundled out of there, pillows in hand, in short order. Bruce jokes that she smells funny after all that time just sitting there in the fluff for a day and a half and quails under the fury in her glare. This, if nothing else, reassures Tony that she’s back to normal. 

He feeds them again, a light snack of crackers and juice this time, and lets them wear their excitement out on each other. They run around, screaming their heads off in a manner that Jarvis has to assure him is entirely normal, while he pulls up a half-completed schematic for an SI project on his tablet. Before they all know it, it’s past noon and they’re all about to fall asleep where they stand. This time, he plies them with grilled cheese and potato chips before heaving them to his bed, where they bully him into joining them. He sighs but acquiesces, propping himself up with the headboard while they settle in around him. 

“Read us a thing,” Bruce mumbles into his knee. Natalia half-heartedly waves a hand in agreement. 

“What sort of thing?” Tony asks, sort of surprised. 

“A book,” Clint offers. “None of that boring adult stuffs, though. ‘S gotta be a book for kids.”

“About giants,” says Steve. His eyelids are drooping but he keeps jerking his head up to stay awake.

“‘Dun wanna hear about giants,” Thor protests sleepily. “All the stories at home are about killing giants. It’s boring.” 

“There are friendly giants,” Bruce whines. “Right Tony?”

“There sure are,” Tony agrees wildly, absolutely not sure if this is true or not. “Right, Jarvis? A book about friendly giants?”

“There is one such book,” Jarvis replies in a low tone. 

“Read it,” Natalia demands, her waving hand dropping. 

“Sure,” Tony agrees, less than enthusiastic. “A kid’s book about friendly giants that won’t bore you all to sleep anyways. Let’s see it, J.” 

Within moments, the cover of  _ The BFG _ appears on the screen of his tablet. The kids make the appropriate enthusiastic noises, so he decides to oblige -- just a few words before they’re out. 

“ _ Sophie couldn’t sleep, _ ” he reads quietly. “ _ A brilliant moonbeam was slanting through a gap in the curtains. It was shining right on to her pillow. _ ”

One by one, the young Avengers drop off to sleep, lulled by the story of a little girl snatched away by a large, friendly giant. 

**8**

Tony leaves them under the watchful eye of Jarvis, more than ready for an hour to himself. He keeps checking on them as he goes, even with the AI’s reassurances that they’re sound asleep, as he takes the elevator down to his workshop. Determined to get something done for the first time in three days, he summons up the schematic from earlier. As an afterthought, he also decides to pull up a feed of the sleeping children.  _ Just  _ in case. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, anyways, regardless of whether Tony designed the other pair or not. Except this other feed is really distracting. He keeps glancing over to make sure they’re not distressed -- rather, Thor has rolled into the space Tony had previously occupied, and Clint’s cuddling up to the tiny god’s foot. It’s kind of adorable. 

“You’re not moving,” Loki says from behind him. Tony whirls around to see the god in a loose parade rest a good fifteen feet away, armorless and scowling. Cursing, he snatches up an extra repulsor gauntlet he had lying around and fires it straight at him. The shot goes through Loki’s ribcage; however, it doesn’t impact. Instead the god’s entire being flickers as it meets him, sort of like switching the channel on an old-fashioned television. Something explodes behind him a fraction of a second later. 

“I hope you weren’t invested in the contents of that shelf,” Loki says, peering back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Oh my. You really did a number on it.” 

“Why are you here?” Tony demands, rightfully peeved. This is his workshop, his safe zone. The kids don’t even know this floor exists yet. Not that Loki seems to give a shit. 

“I bring news,” the god announces grandly. And then leaves it there.

“And the news is?” Tony raises an eyebrow, impatient and flustered that he was caught at -- at what? Making sure the kids are okay? Never mind.

“You must leave,” says the god. “I told you earlier, but the situation has changed for the worse. If you don’t find yourself and your small team shelter in another location, you’ll be targeted and killed in your sleep.”

Alarmed, Tony whips around back to the feed, triple checking on the children. They look fine, but, “Jarvis, blackout windows and keep an eye out around the outside of the Tower.”

“Sir.” As he watches, the room goes darker and darker until there’s no light escaping from either side of the window panes. Only then does he relax. 

“This tower is one of the most well-protected buildings in the country,” Tony says, turning back to face the intruding god.

“It’s good to be prepared here,” Loki acknowledges magnanimously. “But while your tower is indeed defensible, it’s also too high-profile. Even the lowest commoner knows the mighty Avengers,” and cue this nasty little sneer on his face, like he stepped in shit, “reside here. My imposter will come here, and come quickly. Without the majority of your team fit to fight, and with your armor still attempting to release SHIELD from its own confines, you don’t stand a chance.” 

Tony points a finger at him, conceding the point. “I’m going to figure out how you know about SHIELD’s issues later. For now, fine. Where do you suggest I go?”

“The other side of the country,” Loki says bluntly. “Or better, the other side of the planet. Another realm entirely, if you can manage --”

“-- which I can’t --”

“-- fine.  _ Useless mortals.  _ Somewhere you own that is equally defensible. Perhaps a bit more remote?”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Got it. You’re sure you’re not the one about to kill me as soon as my back is turned?”

“Not today,” Loki says dryly. “We’ll renegotiate when the imposter is taken care of.”

“Fair enough,” Tony concedes. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll meet you at your new location to judge its fitness.” And with that, he disappears as suddenly as he came. 

Tony sighs and sits back in his chair, thoughts whirling. “J, prepare my private jet,” he says finally. “No staff. I want you piloting. Set a course for the Malibu house.”

“Is it wise, sir, to trust the Liesmith’s word?” Jarvis inquires delicately. 

“Not really,” Tony admits. “But it’s either go to a more controlled environment and be sure, or possibly get blown up when we’re not looking here. Loki can waltz his sparkly ass through our defenses either way.”

“I don’t like that,” Jarvis says, peeved. Tony snorts.

“Neither do I. What do kids need on airplanes, anyways?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've actually been holding on to the tidbit about Loki appearing in Tony's workshop since before the last chapter was posted. 
> 
> Now, OBVIOUSLY I have no real rights to Marvel, The BFG, Disney, or any other real-life thing I reference here. Please don't eat me. Or sue me. Thank you and have a great day.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: No wonder I didn't get anything done for so long. IAMX is really the worst music to write a fic about children to, although to be fair it's the best for literally everything else ever. Have a listen, maybe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G8JGRVAYCM   
> Actually, I wrote a lot of rustfic to IAMX, Vienna Teng, and Snow Patrol. This fic has been written mostly to Florence + The Machine, Sia, and OK Go. 
> 
> Anyways, Biscuit and I have PLANS. We actually sat down and thought out the next chapter or three, so hopefully the next chapter will come a lot quicker. Thanks for sticking with us!
> 
> BISCUIT: I hope y'all like it and I'm hoping to do another chapter for at least one of the fics we're working on before I go to China.

Despite his initial proactive attitude about it, Tony really doesn’t like the idea of relocating. At least, not so soon, and not without warning. His fourth day, and Pepper’s judgement, is tomorrow. Tony finds himself honestly conflicted between leaving as soon as humanly possible in hopes that it guarantees their safety at the cost of Pepper’s support, and calling to tell Pepper everything as soon as possible. It would be irresponsible to not tell her, he reasons with himself. And yet.

“I have drawn up a list of commonly packed luggage for children,” Jarvis announces, and a new hologram pops up accordingly. “Do you wish to call Miss Potts?”

_ God no.  _ “Yeah, call her up. Audio only.” 

Thanks to the wonders of Stark technology, there’s no time wasted on shitty elevator music or dial tones. He hasn’t managed to get rid of the click as someone answers, yet, though. Pepper answers with her usual order of professionalism -- some spiel about how she’s the CEO of Stark Industries and therefore a very busy woman without ever actually saying it. 

“Hey, Pep,” he says, very much surprised at how tired he sounds all of a sudden. “How are you?”

“I’m very busy,” she says, and yeah, maybe he has earned that suspicious tone. “But also fine, thank you for asking. Happy brought me a refreshing salad with salmon for lunch. Have you eaten?” 

“We all have,” Tony promises. “It was very healthy. Grilled cheese and other -- healthy things, although they’re not a fan of kiwis right now.” 

She sighs. “Understandable. Are they all doing okay? I heard that Natasha’s out of the medical wing.” 

“And perfectly healthy,” says Tony. He scrunches his face up, content in his decision to sulk and look exactly as uneasy as he feels without anyone but Jarvis and the bots looking. They won’t judge. Much. “But look. Pep. Pepperpot. Light of my life, queen of my kingdom --”

“What did you do?”

“ _ I, _ ” Tony starts with the perfect level of indignance in his voice, “didn’t do anything wrong. The rest of the world did. I wonder, is there a  _ society  _ for supervillains? Do they all meet up for tea and plans for world domination? Do they compare notes? How do they all know what every other bad guy is doing at any given time?”

“I would assume they don’t,” Pepper says dryly, “but judging on the way you’re going on about it you’ve heard otherwise.”

“Yeeeeeeeah.” Tony prods idly at the list of things to pack for the kiddies. “So, I’m moving to Malibu, maybe temporarily, maybe until the Tower gets blown up, I dunno. Jarvis is prepping a jet, so.”

 

During the fraction of a second it takes for Pepper to process this, Tony debates the merits versus the risks of saying a quick goodbye and hanging up. She’ll call back immediately, of course, and then he’ll have to ignore it until he’s either on his flight with the munchkins or physically in Malibu to escape -- or rather, fend off with the power of denial -- the CEO’s wrath. She won’t let up for a second while he’s in transit, and he knows she’ll be both angry and worried by that point. Not to mention the proverbial bomb he just dropped about the potential demise of Stark Tower -- hell, the whole city. Jarvis will disapprove the whole way, and Tony himself will certainly feel bad about returning to his old asshole tendency to drop shocking information at her feet and refuse to follow up. 

Yeah, he concludes, that would be a dickish thing to do. 

Right on cue, Pepper comes back to life. Her disapproving hum goes flat across the line, and Tony spares another moment to consider whether the sound produced is a flaw in his system or if he’s just really terrible at reading people based on verbal cues alone.

“Where do I even start?” she asks, sounding about a hundred percent done with him. Tony knows that he deserves that tone of voice, but chooses to bristle anyways. “You haven’t actually told me why you plan on going to Malibu yet,” she adds. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I did,” Tony protests. “I told you that we’re going because the Tower might possibly be at risk of spontaneous, aggressive combustion, except it’ll have been premeditated so not really spontaneous. What more do you want?”

“A reason why, maybe?” she suggests. “You could start by sharing your sources. I am  _ very curious. _ ”

“I know because supervillains are evil, Pep, we’ve covered this before. The whole superhero gig puts myself and your beautiful tower at risk, twenty-four seven. There’s a reason why you no longer live here.” 

“There’s more than one reason,” she mutters, but the fight is gone from her voice. She sighs heavily. It crackles a little through the connection. “I need something, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony says, subdued by the sudden turn in their conversation.

“Is Jarvis in on this, too?”

“I am,” the AI volunteers.

Pepper sighs. “I was hoping you weren’t,” she admits. “Is there any real way around this?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Potts,” Jarvis replies gravely. “Perhaps the relocation of the Tower’s staff would also be prudent, until the danger passes.”

“That’s next on my list. If you two don’t plan on sharing anything else…”

“There isn’t much else to say,” Tony says, and Jarvis agrees tactfully.

“I except a thorough explanation when this all blows over,” she warns. “Now, about that jet -- I cancelled it --” 

“Why?” Tony demands, throwing his hands up into the air. “I thought we covered this, Pep!”

“If you’re trying to get out of Manhattan unnoticed, the Stark private jet isn’t the way to go,” she points out reasonably. “Just a quick flight to a neighboring state draws attention, Tony. Imagine the speculation if you and unknown children were spotted flying across the country to your Malibu mansion, where you’re well known to hermit or go on an inventing binge… or when you’re hiding something. You’ll have paparazzi at the property gates and looking through your windows.” 

Tony groans theatrically, annoyed by the truth of her words. “You’re right, as always. But we need to get out of here. What am I supposed to do, fly commercial?”

“Absolutely not!” She even laughs a little, she’s so startled. “I did contact a private jet liner without a big name on it, though. They won’t be ready until eight, but it’s the best they could do, seeing as I contacted them as I was cancelling the Stark jet’s flight plan.” 

“You’re a goddess,” Tony tells her, reverent. “Where would I be without you?”

“In a ditch somewhere ten years back, soaked in alcohol and missing your wallet,” she replies promptly. “Have you memorized your social security number yet?”

“I know there’s a six,” he hazards, partially for the joke and partially serious. He really doesn’t.

“There is an even number or two, but no six,” Pepper laughs. “I’ll send your flight information, a pickup location, and a list of things to pack for the kids’ entertainment during the flight.” 

“They won’t sleep?” he asks weakly. She snorts and yeah, he knows. 

“Snack foods, too,” she adds. “Healthy ones, in case they get motion sickness.”

Another good point. Tony looks at the growing list of supplies with trepidation. He’s about to open his mouth again and ask how she can possibly know all this, but a sudden thought makes him pause. Jarvis has been keeping up with Pepper’s stream of advice, and it’s a bit of a wakeup call. He’d forgotten that Pepper had normal human experiences growing up -- she doesn’t have Stark Industries in her blood, no matter how seamlessly she fits in, no matter how well she runs his world. 

“And since I know Jarvis has been typing up every word I’ve said, I know you’ll be prepared,” she finishes. 

“Yeah, not really,” Tony quips, shaken out of his contemplation. “Somehow, I don’t think there’s such thing as being prepared to take five kids on a plane.”

“You’re right,” she says cheerfully. “You’ll be eaten alive.”

“Gee, thanks,” he complains good-naturedly. She chuckles.

“I’m going to let you pack,” the CEO says, with a certain lightness to her voice that wasn’t present at the beginning of the call.”Keep in touch, okay? I want to know if something happens, or if you need help with anything.”

“I’ll call,” Tony promises. “Thanks, Pep.”

“Anytime. And, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing a good job.”

**8**

It’s not until he’s woken all the kids, fed and watered them, packed their toys and snack foods of choice as well as a small assortment of clothes (he can buy new ones when they get there), stuffed it in his own suitcase, brought out the latest briefcase armor, and dressed them all, that he looks at the flight plan.

“This says we’ll be taking a private car,” he says numbly. 

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis agrees.

“To a public airport.”

“It’s all Miss Potts could manage on such short notice.”

“A public airport, J.  _ In public. _ ” 

“Indeed.”

“I’m a billionaire! With five children! We do not need this!”

“Sir --”

“ _ Think of the children, Jarvis. _ ”

“You can keep them in line, sir.” 

“ _ Christ _ . Okay.” He takes a deep breath and tries to see the good in the situation. It’s not working very well. “So the pilot, where is he?”

“Miss Potts arranged for you to meet him after the security checkpoints in the airport, sir.” 

“That’s going to take forever.”

“It will be a quick trip if you tell them who you are, sir.” 

“I am a very high profile celebrity!” Tony reminds the AI in a worryingly high-pitched voice. He can feel his blood pressure rising with his voice. “If I tell one person, they’re  _ all  _ going to know!”

“You have a point.” 

“I know I do!” Another deep, calming breath. “I just need a disguise until I can get us out of the public eye. What’s my most iconic feature?”

“Your --”

“ _ Not the beard _ .”

**8**

He shaves the beard. 

“It will grow back, sir.”

**8**

The car ride itself isn’t entirely awful. Tony herds the tiny Avengers into the backseats of the silver SUV. He’s starting to feel a little like a mom taking her kids on a road trip. It’s a perfectly nondescript vehicle, and it has a driver, and here he is, one hand keeping baby Bruce pressed into the car seat while the other struggles to work out the buckles, and it’s both extremely frustrating and frustratingly routine. Natalia’s crawling over his calves trying to get out the door, Steve is grinning at him with his seat already buckled, and Clint and Thor are arguing over who gets the seat behind Tony’s. The driver has the decency to stay quiet -- though, that could just be the lethal NDA Pepper probably slapped him with. 

Tony finally settles in the back seat with the kids, clean shaven and highly uncomfortable in inexpensive, yet brightly colored (the yellow shirt is from Bruce’s closet), street clothes. At the last minute, Thor jammed a blue ballcap with a sewn-on penguin onto Tony’s head, which -- where did he get that? Jarvis won’t tell and it’s driving Tony to insanity. He’s ten seconds away from a full-on sulk, stress and anxiety about the trip and now this? Throw him a bone.

The airport’s actually a solid half hour’s drive, so he lets the night sky outside and the quiet ride lull himself and the kids into a quick nap. 

He doesn’t regret his inattention until the driver announces their arrival at the airport. It doesn’t hit him at first. He’s still sniffling a little, which wakes the kids. The driver’s gotten out and retrieved their luggage for the trip: one twenty-five inch check-in full of their toys and clothing of choice, two kid-sized backpacks filled with travel toys and snacks, his briefcase armor, and a regular briefcase with his own entertainment (paperwork, love Pepper). The car seats are also going with them, which he needs a cart for -- 

He’s staring at the smarte cartes when it hits him for the second time. 

_ Public airport. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled awkward hats for this chapter. Weird shit happened, man. Cannot be unseen.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Toaster Strudels were invented in 1985.  
> Another fun fact: Pop Tarts were invented in 1964.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: So... it's been more than a year. It took that long to get the writing spark back, honestly. Pretty much everything else I've posted has been pre-written. Mostly I over-hyped myself for the airport scene and then didn't want to do it. At all. But Biscuit eventually kicked my ass hard enough that we got it done. Not, however, before she wrote an entire swath of this chapter. Like, the WHOLE dream sequence, and some before that. Not to mention, if she hadn't figured out what they were to do with their time in this chapter, it wouldn't have happened. So love her the way I do!! Responses soothe the soul and please the heart <3 Tell us what you think!!! At least to let me know I haven't left you all behind!! I didn't mean to, I promise. :c
> 
> BISCUIT: Hey y'all! I'm sorry to say a bunch of this hiatus has been because school got crazy for me, on top of recurring illnesses. Hopefully the summer will continue to bring back my productivity and I'll be able to continue helping Steve out with all the wonderful fics come fall!  
> Also make sure you drink lots of water, that's important! ^-^

It’s a very bedraggled group that trails after an equally tired Tony, six hours after they left New York. Before children, such a short flight wouldn’t have cost him anything. Now, though, his feet drag across the asphalt of the airport parking lot. Pepper had texted him the license plate number of the car she’d sent for him and they haven’t had any luck so far. The street lights are harsh on his strained eyes, reflecting oddly off the license plates as he passes. 

After several quiet minutes, full of tiny yawns and sniffles from residual stress, he spies the set of numbers that match those on his phone screen. “We’re here, kiddies,” he says, and the small ones all perk up in hope. Words can’t describe how glad he is to know it’s almost over. He slips his phone into his pocket, hefts, the luggage, looks up, and -- 

It’s a minivan. 

It makes sense, he knows. None of his cars can fit six people, so of course Pepper would get something that could fit the ever so many car seats needed for travel. Also all of his cars were definitely too flashy for the low profile he was going for. Sighing, he herds the kids to the minivan, silently cursing whatever gods he can think of for having to touch this poorly made monstrosity. 

With how exhausted the kids are, it’s much simpler to buckle them in, no shenanigans from the waiting children while he buckles everyone in. After he has all the luggage and cargo --  _ children _ , loaded, he turns tired eyes to the, thankfully not too long, drive home.

He has no clue as to what kind of food -- if any -- there is waiting, but hopefully there’s something to get them through the night. If he has to do much more, the kids might get a way too real example of the fact that adults cry.

The drive to his Malibu home is long and quiet. The streets are empty and the kids are too tired to do anything, giving Tony plenty of time to think as he drives. He still has misgivings about listening to Loki and uprooting the kids in the first place. Despite the disaster that was Central Park the other day, he has doubts that the Loki who knocked him out was an imposter. How likely is that, anyways? he wonders. After all, he knows that the demi-god can clone himself, and he never got a look at the one who spoke to him at the park. Plus, Loki is  _ known  _ for his lies. It’s his whole shtick. What if the whole thing is bullshit? 

Clearly, the stress has been getting to him. He should’ve thought this through a little more carefully. But he had Jarvis there with him, and J would’ve said something if he thought Tony was being too erratic. Getting over his flu, dealing with the team, now raising small children… Jarvis has cut him down during less stressful circumstances. 

He groans and bangs his forehead against the cracked steering wheel. Where did Pepper get this hunk of junk, anyways? Tony understands disguises and being discreet, but did it have to be  _ this particular disguise _ ? Early 2000s, painted the ugliest shade of metallic taupe, with plastic bumpers. He must be atoning for something that can’t be forgiven with a new pair of pumps. 

Oh god, the Malibu house isn’t kid-proofed. 

When they finally pull up the lengthy driveway to his home, Tony’s got a mental list as long as his arm of things he needs to put away or lock up, or both. The kids are mostly able to unbuckle themselves -- Thor breaks his, but that’s no surprise. What is a surprise is that Clint breaks his, and Natalia’s is still buckled when she gets out. Tony has to reach in and pull tiny Steve out carefully. Bruce sits in his, breathing deeply and steadily, frustrated to the point of tears and visibly sick of the day. He reaches out silently as soon as Tony unclips him and clings tight. With Bruce in one arm, Steve in another, and the other three wandering along after, Tony leads them in through the front door. 

“Who here’s tired?” he asks, and all of them give a weak,  _ me.  _ “I don’t know what food we have sooooo how about we wait til the morning to scavenge for breakfast?” 

_ Okay.  _ Thor just sort of grumbles, but subsides under Natalia’s stare. 

“Okay,” Tony declares. “Bedtime. Yes?”

“Yes,” they chorus. 

“Good stuff. Come on, then, kiddies. Sleep is this way.”

It’s past midnight when they all settle in his enormous, circular bed. It feels like the first time in weeks that he’s gotten to close his eyes, but he also feels content. The kids wriggle around and tug the comforter this way and that, but he’s starting to get used to that. The door to the rest of the house is closed, there’s a simple bathroom connected this master bedroom, and Jarvis is keeping a quiet eye. 

Flashes of his day from hell come to him in his dreams _. _

**8**

_ The consternation that came with first realizing that it wasn’t the wrong address and that he’d have to check in at a public airport with five excitable children _

_ \-- _

_ Horror when, after checking in, he turned around and realized some of his wards were missing _

_ \-- _

_ Terror at the thought of them having been taken, followed by the panicked rush to find them _

_ \-- _

_ The oddly mixed anger and utter relief that came with finding Clint and Thor safe, staring at one of the myriad concessions stands that littered the airport  _

_ \-- _

_ The shame he felt when he saw the looks of disapproval on peoples faces after he caved and bought some of the child leashes that were inexplicably in a duty-free shop _

_ \-- _

_ The reprieve that came with the understanding nods of traveling parents, and the understanding that, for once, he wasn’t totally fucking things up _

_ \-- _

_ His one moment of respite that day, when he finally got the children onto the plane and figured he could relax _

_ \-- _

_ The tears that almost immediately came after when the plane took off, both from the kids, and humiliatingly for a second, him _

_ \-- _

_ The looks of sheer awe that he had the pleasure of seeing on his teammates’ tiny faces when he directed them to the windows _

_ \-- _

_ The minor tantrum that occurred halfway through the flight when the kids realized that none of the pillows they had found were coming with them _

_ \-- _

_ The adorable pile that was naptime on the plane after an actually healthy lunch (no fruit) _

_ \-- _

_ Waking them from their naps as the landing is announced  _

_ \--  _

He wakes knowing that he’ll never willingly take these kids on a plane again. Not at this age, at least. They can handle their own fidgeting as adults. 

“Good morning, sir,” Jarvis says in low tones, just loud enough that he can hear. “The time is 10:32 AM. The weather forecast -- yes, sir?” 

Jarvis’ tone is long-suffering, but he cuts himself off to oblige Tony’s waving hand. 

“Doesn’t matter about the weather,” Tony yawns, rubbing at his face with his other hand. He feels like he’s been a week without coffee, and not a good week, either. “Not goin’ outside today. Gotta kidproof.” 

“Of course, sir. I’ll have child locks delivered to you straightaway.” 

Tony groans in protest, groggy as hell and unhappy about the future of his nice furniture. “That’s gonna ruin the finish on… everything.” 

“Indeed, sir. Perhaps you can construct a better material for the adhesive another time.” 

“Doesn’t help me now.”

Thor chooses this moment as the perfect opportunity to yawn loudly directly into Tony’s ear. His body uncurls from its balled-up position and he stretches, arms in the air and feet kicking out. Tony watches it happen: one foot hits Tony himself in the hip, and the other smacks Bruce in the face. Bruce wakes with a start, wide-eyed, sitting up to get a look at what’s going on and getting the same foot to the cheek again in the process. His sudden movement startles Clint, who’d cuddled up to Tony’s hairy knee around three in the morning and hadn’t let go. He whines a loud complaint, squinting in the morning light.  

“Wake up,” he mumbles, patting Tony’s leg. “N’talia, wake up.” 

Said tiny redhead snarls from Tony’s other side. The only adult in the room watches everything like they’re a new species he’s never seen before, exhibiting new behaviors on a documentary. 

“Nuh uh,” Clint protests, feeling around him. He’s acting as though his eyes are glued shut, sitting up slowly and feeling his way across the blankets until he’s draped over both of Tony’s legs, one hand on her head and the other stuck under him, trapped by his own body weight. He squirms and tugs ineffectually, not seeming to realize the problem. 

Tony, still pinned with Thor on one side and a slowly waking Steve on the other, can’t do anything when Natalia blinks awake, snatches Clint’s hand off her head, and bites. 

Clint howls and Natalia watches through slitted eyes as he tugs his hand back and pouts his way to tears. There’s barely a pink mark. 

“ _ Demon children _ ,” Tony moans, staring at the ceiling. 

**8** 

Clint’s howling wakes Steve, who’d been pretty good about the whole thing until he realized exactly what happened. Now he’s glowering at Natalia, who scowls right back while rubbing at her eyes with both fists. Tony has the whole team settled on his white couch, soon to be destroyed by frozen breakfast food. Behind them, the wall of windows lets in the light of a beautiful day. Nobody looks happy about it. 

“Natalia,” Tony says firmly, catching her attention. Clint has a neon purple bandaid on his hand and continues to nurse it, despite the lack of any real injury whatsoever. Tony’s convinced that if she actually wanted to hurt him, she would have. “Do you understand why what you did was wrong?”

“Not supposed to bite other people,” she says sullenly. Then she brightens. “Unless they’re going to hurt me! Then I can employ  _ any means necessary  _ to get away!”

He wonders where she heard that one. “True, but not relevant in this situation, also, you’re all four. Say sorry to Clint.” 

“Yeah,” Clint sulks. Natalia sighs. 

“Sorry, Clint,” she says dutifully. “Don’t wake me up next time.”

“I won’t,” he fires back. “Not even if there’s pop-tars!” 

“What’re pop-tars?” she asks, confused. 

“Pop-tarts,” Bruce chimes in. He looks the least unhappy out of all of them to be awake. “They’re yummy.”

“And very much like what we’re going to eat today!” Clapping his hands and smiling, Tony despairs for these children inside. “I don’t know when they were invented, but today we’re going to have  _ toaster strudels _ .” 

Which works great, and they all look thrilled to get to frost their own little unfrozen delights. It only gets… everywhere. Steve gives the frosting a taste-test, decides he likes it, and slathers half the package onto his little pastry. The other half, he tells Tony wisely, he can’t eat, because that’s too much sugar, and too much sugar upsets his tummy (Tony will delight in having this on file for when the tiny blond is all grown up and eating a whole box of cinnamon rolls in one sitting). Natalia and Clint get into a competition as to which of them can cover the most of their strudel without smearing it with their fingers. They get Thor to preside as judge, who takes a healthy bite of each as compensation; he didn’t put the frosting on at all, just ate the poptart and then poured frosting onto his hands to finger paint his plate with. Needless to say, not much actually ends up on his plate.

Bruce ices his with precision, brow furrowed as he works. Not a drop ends up anywhere other than the pastry or his plate. Tony really appreciates Bruce right now. 

He takes the moment of reprieve -- that is, the young Avengers eating -- and runs to the kitchen to see if he’s got anything other than sugar-loaded crap, but it seems all he has in the whole kitchen is a now empty box of strudels, a can of diced tomatoes, and ice. Also, of course, appliances.

“Shall I put in a grocery order, sir?” Jarvis inquires, with perfect timing as usual. 

“You’re the best, J,” Tony says with feeling. “Do that, please.

“Alright!” As he rounds the corner back into the living room he claps his hands to get the kids’ attention. “All done with breakf --  _ oh god. _ ” 

The kids freeze in their tracks, all five heads turning to him in guilty unison. 

The living room is a disaster zone. The children have all fallen off the couch, excepting Bruce, who remains sitting sedately on a dirtied cushion. Thor’s half on top of Clint, squishing him to the ground with his hands on the smaller boy’s back. Clint, though, didn’t go down alone: he’s got one sticky hand tangled in Natalia’s hair, and she’d clearly been in the middle of a good thwack to his arm. Steve is perched on the edge of the coffee table with all the plates stacked neatly on his lap. 

“I told you you ought not to do it,” the small blond says ominously, watching the proceedings with wide blue eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Tony expresses, throwing his hands up at the spectacle before him in exasperation. “I give up. Shower time, kids, let’s go.” 

Obediently, they all get up and file up the stairs in the direction he’s pointing. 

“I’ll grab your towels, your soap, your spare change of clothes,” he continues, cutting off any protest before it can hope to start. “Get undressed and get in the tub. Jarvis will turn the shower on, and that’s it!” he shouts after them. “Tomorrow, we’re going  _ outside! _ ” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: we spent twenty minutes trying to find a not-potentially dirty way to discuss applying sunscreen. it was very uncomfortable. also, where i live, they are not called flipflops -- they are called slippers. it was the cause of even more confusion, because apparently the rest of the world calls house shoes slippers. //jazz hands// you all are very strange. 
> 
> BISCUIT: linguistic variation is fun!! (This is what I'm going into people)

The sun is out bright and early the next morning. So are the kids. They’re running around at an unholy hour, effectively rousing Tony from his exhausted sleep, which earns them Jarvis’ watchful eye while he gets up to splash water on his face and inspect the bags under his eyes. 

“Christ,” he grumbles, rubbing at his stubbled cheek. He thinks he looks so much older without the beard. It’s not a great feeling. “I look homeless. Why’d I let you talk me into this, J?” 

“The media outburst would have shut down the airport, sir,” Jarvis replies promptly. “Also, Miss Potts may have mentioned the need for discretion?”

Tony sighs loudly and goes back into the bedroom. “Alright, small ones,” he said in a raised voice. “Healthy breakfast and a plan for the day! What do you think?” 

“ _ Beach! _ ” Steve shrieks, surprising him all. His head pops out of the bunched up comforter, wearing a big grin. The others startle, looking between him and Tony for answers. 

“You remember that, huh?” Tony says without enthusiasm. He has no idea how he’s gonna manage. 

“Yesss,” Steve hisses with relish. The others look mostly nonplussed. Something occurs to Tony. 

“Who here’s been to the beach?” he asks. “Show of hands.” 

He raises his hand to demonstrate. Bruce and Steve raise theirs in turn. “That it? That’s it, okay. Who knows what the beach is?” 

“‘Sa buncha water,” Steve volunteers. “An’ sand.” 

“True,” Tony allows. “It’s also a place where you  _ stay next to me.  _ Got it? No roaming around, no stuffing -- things in your mouth. No jumping into the water when I’m not there.” 

“That’sa lotta no’s,” Clint points out, the beginnings of a frown creasing his chubby face. 

“Those are the only ones,” Tony consoles them. “As long as you let me put sunscreen on you a few times, you can do all the sand castle building and hole digging you want.” 

“Holes?” Thor asks with mild interest. 

“With a shovel,” Bruce puts in. “Like at a playground, but the sand is everywhere.” 

“What’s sand?” Thor asks curiously. He crawls up to sit next to Steve, who’s practically vibrating where he sits. 

“Dirt,” Bruce says matter-of-factly, “made of shells.” 

“Shells?” Natalia echoes. 

“Oh, boy,” Tony sighs. “Jarvis, queue up some pictures of the beach. I gotta make a phone call.” 

**8**

Happy comes in as they’re wrapping up breakfast, arms loaded with bags. “Got your message, boss,” he pants, using the door jamb as something to lean on while he catches his breath. “Sorry I didn’t answer.” 

“Not your boss, Hap,” Tony reminds him, going over to take a couple of the bags from the overburdened man and place them on the kitchen counter. 

“Sure thing, boss,” Happy replies comfortably, unperturbed. He puts the rest of the bags next to the others before looking over the young Avengers with a careful eye. “Sure are cute, aren’t they?” 

“Pretty sure most of them could still kill you with their pinkies,” Tony informs him, rifling through the closest bag. He makes a satisfied noise as he finds what he’s looking for, and pulls it out: a kid’s sized one-piece swimsuit in blue. There are ten of them, two of each color choice in each size for each kid. Some have little patches of yellow and others have green. Tony is satisfied with this choice, because it’s easy for him to just hand them all over and let the kids pick the color. 

The next bag has rash guards in a variety of colors and little flip flops. The others have snack food, beach toys, a cooler bag, beach towels, and sunscreen. The kids perk up, craning their necks from the table to try and get a look at the contents. 

“Nuh uh,” Tony refuses, tucking everything away. “None for you until you’re all cleaned up. Go on,” he adds when they don’t move, “get. I’ll be along in a second.” 

There’s a second where they sit there and process what they’ve been told. Then, as one, they get up and scramble out of the room, leaving their mess behind. Tony stares at the smeared syrup with something akin to dread. 

Happy pats him on the shoulder. “You got your hands full with these ones,” he says heavily and with sympathy. “I’ll help you clean up.” 

Tony has learned to hate sponges. By the time he gets to the syrup, it’s dried to the table and bits of the sponge get stuck in the mess left behind as he tries to scrub it. This kind of manual labor is terrible and he never wants to do it again. Although, it is sort of satisfying to see the clean table when he’s done -- nowhere near the glow of a completed invention, however. 

An hour or so later, they’re all marching down the driveway towards the minivan that Tony forgot to get rid of. The drive to the beach itself is short -- Tony owns the one at the base of the cliff -- during which they go over the rules again. The kids are only half-listening, but that’s alright. If they kick up too much of a fuss or break too many of the (like, three) rules, they’ll go home early. Not early enough that Happy hasn’t finished, though. He hopes. 

There are no parking spaces at his private beach. Tony pulls the minivan up and parks it half on the road and half in the weeds sprouting at the edge of the sand that leads down to the beach. The kids all turn to each other and fumble at each others’ seat belts and buckles as Tony gets out to pull everything out of the back.

“Single file, kiddies, let’s go,” he instructs, calling to them from the trunk. All five heads perk up, sunny smiles on their faces as they scramble out of the van to meet him in the back. The bulk of the minivan casts a large shadow -- if he can keep them still long enough, he’ll be able to get enough sunscreen slathered on them before they start to burn. As the five scrawny, wriggly bodies scamper over to him, though, he begins to doubt his own ability. Is there an invention for this sort of thing?? If not, there should be. He’ll get started on it as soon as they get back.

It becomes very clear that none of them, except Natalia, know what single file means. She alone jumps to attention a pace away from him, back straight and arms by her side. The others are slow to follow; Tony watches with some amusement as she tries to herd them into place behind her with words edged out the side of her mouth. They catch on eventually, lining up behind her to await their sunscreen baths while clutching various beach-related paraphernalia. The whole row of them are vibrating in excitement and trepidation both. The only ones who don’t have at least a general idea of how to swim are Clint and Thor, so those are the two he’ll stick to the closest during this trip. For a split second, he finds himself regretting his past decision to drain and fill in the pool at his Malibu home, but just thinking about it makes him --

He breathes deep and lets it out in a sigh.

Never mind.

After making sure to apply sunscreen on all of them, Tony goes over the rules one last time. At this point, they’re all fidgeting in their places and the single file line has fallen apart. Thor has regressed to jabbing a plastic shovel into Natalia’s side -- she looks like she’s about to snap. Steve is on the verge of rubbing all the recently applied sunscreen off with the towel tangled up in his hands. “Alright kiddos, what’s the first rule?” He continues without waiting for an answer. “ _ No running off _ , for any reason. Capisce?” 

The five children nod obediently, with varying amounts of sincerity. Tony eyes them all with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“Second rule: if I see any of you sticking things in your mouths that are NOT from here--” he points at the cooler bag he just pulled out of the trunk, “then that is immediate grounds for imprisonment.” He lets that sink in for a moment. The confusion on their faces is beautiful. “Thirdly,  _ No running off _ . Especially into the water.”

Clint raises his hand. “Wasn’t that the first rule?”

“Yes, but I feel it bears repeating here.”

Clint grins, the others tittering behind him. 

“Finally, if I call for you to come over for sunscreen time, you stop what you’re doing and get your butt over to me  _ right away.”  _

With that said he turns back towards the minivan’s trunk and pulls out armloads of bags: too many to hold a kid’s hand and balance at the same time. “Now we employ the buddy system,” he says. “Except instead of pairing off I want you all sticking together. I will be right behind you, so  _ no shenanigans _ . Got it?”

“Got it,” they chorus, despite Thor and Natalia obviously Not Getting It. Bruce clears it up for them quickly, however, by grabbing Thor’s hand with one of his and Natalia’s with his other. Thor, catching on, reaches over and snags one of Steve’s hands. Steve reaches for Clint, who reaches out for Tony, who doesn’t have a hand to give.

Tony is so proud.

“Good job,” he praises. “Now I have so many things in my hands that I can’t see in front of me.” A lie, but they giggle anyways. “I need you to lead me down the beach -- watch out for crab holes! Find a nice spot, and wait for me. Do  _ not go into the water.  _ Looking at you, Stevie,” he adds, eyeing the little blond. Young Steve looks way too conniving for his own good. 

Tony tries. He really does. But being weighted down with so many bags -- changes of clothes, a cooler bag full of drinks and snacks, bunches of toys, towels, and spares of  _ everything _ \-- as well as an umbrella that’s as tall as he is (because beach umbrellas are apparently a thing) is starting to take its toll, and he’s flagging by the time they actually get down to the beach itself. The kids are giggling merrily and swinging their arms as they dance through the sand. Half of them are no longer wearing one or both flip flops -- at least if they manage to get lost, they’ll be able to find their way back to the car. 

But it just gets too ridiculous. One lone flip flop trips him up, and half the bags tumble out of his grip; he catches himself by jamming the end of the umbrella into the sand entirely on accident and holding on for dear life. “ _ Fuck  _ me,” he grumbles, dusting the sand off his clothes and scooping up a couple of the bags. “This is a good spot, right kids?? Kids? Kiddos? Munchkins?” They ignore him entirely.

He’ll come back for the rest.

Another hundred yards or so and the kids all stop to peer around. They’ve found the spot. Tony about sags in relief and dumps everything to rearrange after collecting the things he’d left behind. 

After setting up the umbrella, arranging beach towels, and designating both snack and toy areas, Tony is, quite frankly, exhausted, and so decides to try some good ole’ team bonding while the kids are stuffing their faces with grapes. Standing up, he claps his hands for attention and calls, “Alright kiddos. Who here wants to learn about architecture?” Predictably, there is little to no understanding on the tiny faces around him.

Bruce pipes up, wearing a strange expression, “ _ arky tetser _ ?”

That… was almost physically painful to hear. 

“Exactly!” Tony says with enthusiasm. “You are four years old and I need to remember that. What I meant to say was, who wants to learn how to build sand castles?” 

Thor gasps and leaps to his feet. “I live in a castle!” he cries. “The biggest and goldest castle!” 

“How many castles are there?” Steve inquires. 

Thor visibly falters. “Ours is the biggest,” he tries, obviously thinking hard. 

“But _ how many castles _ ,” Natalia presses. 

“How many castles do  _ you _ have,” Thor counters triumphantly. Steve screws up his face. 

“I dun’ have any castles,” he answers with a shrug. “So I guess yours is the biggest and goldest.” 

“Yessssss,” Thor says under his breath. He picked that up from Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody love on biscuit for literally writing half of this chapter. she is a goddess and a saint, and everyone should appreciate her.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEVE: merr crissmus and happy holidays to all of you lovelies <3333 it’s before midnight here so IT STILL COUNTS!!!!! go love on biscuit for me, as once again she wrote a hefty chunk of this chapter. personally, i’m a huge fan of the beach as long as I don’t have to worry about the water. or the sand. or a sunburn. oh, wait — 
> 
> but for real, when I get forced to go i pull a Clint and dig holes. it’s more fun than you think to dig til you reach water. anyways, please send us your thoughts and feelings about this chapter!! You lovelies are LITERALLY the only reason I still update. 
> 
>  
> 
> BISCUIT: I like going to the beach actually, and am also a big fan of digging holes, though I absolutely hate the fact that sand get EVERYWHERE. Happy holidays whatever you may celebrate, and I hope that you enjoy!

The resulting sand castle is, frankly, a flawless example of the Avengers’ teamwork to date: that is, it’s a fucking disaster.

  
They seem to have forgotten his entire (gentle, kid-friendly) lecture on architecture entirely. There are a total of three spires, all standing at different, lopsided, heights. The moat is a train wreck, with areas as deep as young Natalia is tall interchanged with spots only a few inches down. Thor’s been vocal about the height and shape of the castle, going head to head with Bruce and, surprisingly, Steve, both of whom having strong opinions about what a proper castle should look like. By their waving hands and wild descriptions, Tony can assume they want a castle with a Scottish feel to it. It didn’t happen.

  
The front is curved, like a dome, with a foot shape kicked into it for a door. Tony isn’t sure, but it looks like Natalia’s. There are shells pressed into the sand to represent windows. It looks like they tried to fashion balconies on the tops of each spire, but instead there are just holes in the tops of two and the third has collapsed a little.

  
Still, he can see where each of his miniature teammates put their efforts. Bruce spent a majority of his time between sculpting the balconies and collecting the perfect shells, and in fact they do nearly all match. Natalia wasn’t as into it, but spent her time crafting the drawbridge, which has been laid down over the nicest part of the moat (not the actual front). She still doesn’t quite seem to get it, but seems to enjoy the feeling of crafting something with her own hands. Steve did a lot of the manual labor, ferrying buckets of wet sand around and patting all the walls into well-packed order. Tony has been keeping a special eye on him; even with the medication he’s been having him take, Steve is still breathing heavily from all the work, one hand often ending up on his chest.

  
Thor has been trying to police everything, which Tony finds surprising. He clearly has a different idea of what castles should look like compared to what they’ve actually created, prompting Tony to wonder what Asgard’s castle(s?) looks like. He’s responsible for the rounded entryway and the deepest parts of the moat. Clint put up with his direction for the most part, digging shallow sections of the moat and using his finger to draw clumsy details into the sand. At some point though, he got frustrated and turned the back half of the castle into a throne.

  
It took them over an hour. Tony loves that castle more than anything.

  
The kids humor him for a minute or two while he snaps several enthusiastic pictures — blackmail, he tells himself — but start to whine about being bored as he reapplies their sunscreen. He tosses out a few ideas as he goes, but it still takes them several minutes to agree on their next activity: tide pools.

  
At first, they act like adorable little ducklings: bobbing around, tripping over their own feet in the sand and giggling, but following in his general direction. They traverse the beach, kicking at the shallow waves as they go, until they get to the rockier part of the beach. At that point, he has them all hold hands — Natalia, at the front, holding Tony’s own — and step carefully until they find a sizeable tide pool.

  
“Aaaalright,” he says, tugging them all into a crouch around a particular spot. Algae crawls up the rock, spotted colors changing the color of the water. The sandy bottom of the pool is dotted with snails and one bright orange sea star. The kids ooh and aah appropriately. Clint reaches out and prods the star tentatively, then with more confidence when it doesn’t move. Thor tries to pick up a snail, pouting when it slips away, and Natalia teases a school of tiny fish with one finger. Steve is interested at first, then disgusted when he puts his hand on the rock, slips, and ends up with his hand covered in algae. Bruce counts the number of arms the sea star has and spouts a few interesting facts about the creature that he picked up during Jarvis’ introduction to beaches.

  
Tony looks at the star and thinks of tentacles. It’s not great.

  
The whole thing takes another twenty minutes. They wander from pool to pool, looking for unique life in each. By the time Tony’s alarm reminder to reapply sunscreen goes off, they’re all a little scraped up and over it. The six of them regroup at the picnic basket and have a snack break while they consider what to do next.

  
Clint thinks it’s a great idea to dig a hole: a real one this time, not one dictated in size and depth by societal constraints (and Thor). The tiny prince himself takes no offense and agrees with enthusiasm. Tony gives them his blessing and sits back while the rest of them scamper off with the toys to dig a hole. This occupies them for a while. They stay just far enough away to keep the flying sand away from the laid out beach towels, but close enough that he can hear their chattering conversation. They wander between the castle and the pit peacefully. Tony whiles away the time by finally relaxing, keeping one eye on the small ones as they go.

At some point, Clint’s destructive tendencies are satisfied. The hole is deeper than he is tall and the bottom is filling with water, but Thor is perfectly capable of pulling him out, and they reconvene with Tony for yet another round of sunscreen and some juice.

  
They’ve been at the beach for three hours. Tony is tired and ready to go, but kids are notorious for their boundless energy. This time, they choose tag.

  
To Tony’s dismay, this doesn’t keep them in one easy place. The young Avengers are quick on their feet — quick enough to get away from Tony almost before he realizes they’re running away.

  
While Tony can manage the game of tag — with considerable difficulty — he has trouble when they decide to split up. While half of the group seems to be continuing playing, Bruce and Thor break off for what seems to be an impromptu wrestling match. From this distance, it’s hard to tell if they’re having a friendly match or not; judging by the splotches of green blooming to life on Bruce’s skin, he’s going out on a limb and guessing not. Tony heaves his tired body in their direction to referee.

  
It's a lot harder than it looks to break it up, cause not only are they twice as fast as he is and deliberately not listening to him, they also only come up to about his knees, which means his back is going to have its revenge in a couple of hours. By the time he finally gets them to knock it the hell off, scolding them all the way, he’s had enough, and that’s the end of their beach day.

  
The whole group of them are disappointed. Clint in particular is very upset and continued to cast glares in the other boys’ direction.

  
“I want you to apologize,” Tony finishes, fed up with it all. Whoever thought the beach was a good idea, anyways? All the sand, the rocks, the crabs and all the other dangerous shit here should have been a strong enough deterrent, honestly. “And then the two of you will sit down and tell me why you felt it was necessary to run off and start a fight. Of all things! I expected better of you.”

 

Ah, the magic of the disappointed face. Tony remembers it very well. It was particularly effective against him when he was a kid, and it serves him well now. Bruce and Thor stare down at their feet, ashamed. Tony casts his eye over the rest of them just to be sure they plan on listening to him for at least the rest of the day. In truth, he is disappointed. They’d been doing so well today.

  
Natalia seems to realize what he’s doing, and stares up at him solemnly. Clint immediately ceases his glaring, trading it for a flawless expression of contrition and obedience. It doesn’t fool Tony, but he’s tired enough to just take it for now. Steve —

  
Steve isn’t next to them.

  
The realization startles him into doing a quick headcount. He blinks, and tries again. Still, he comes up short: one tiny Steve Rogers short. Which is actually very much short, and he should have noticed sooner. Especially considering the careful eye he’d been keeping on the small boy.

  
“Tony!”

  
He whirls around, towards the surf. In his panic, he almost doesn’t spot Steve’s blond head, but another cry from the boy catches his attention. Steve’s face is screwed up in fear and he’s visibly struggling. The waves have gotten choppy as the wind picked up through the day, and the once gentle tide has dragged him further out than he knows how to handle.

  
Tony’s heart stops.


End file.
